How to Break a Broken Man
by BattyNora
Summary: Prompt Fill: In Terminus, Gareth tells Rick that, as ringleader, he must pick one of the group in the train car to be sacrificed, but Rick refuses. Gareth attempts to convince Rick to choose by using Daryl, who has obviously already been beaten. To them it's about enjoyment of causing people pain, both physical and mental, not about just getting food.
1. Chapter 1

**This was written as a fill for a KinkMeme promt after I found myself stumbling across it, and getting far too excited to not have a go at it, as it merged well with a fic I was currently working on. **

**I hope you enjoy. Reviews and constructive criticism welcomed! ps. I am English so there may be a few 'English' spellings. **

**The prompt was: **In Terminus, Gareth tells Rick that, as ringleader, he must pick one of the group in the train car to be sacrificed (eaten). Rick of course refuses. Gareth (because that boy has a very maor screw loose, you can see it in his eyes) attempts to convince Rick to choose by beating Daryl, who he can see Rick values, and who has obviously already been beaten. To them it's about enjoyment of causing people pain, both physical and mental, not about just getting food.

**Disclaimer: Quite simple, I own nothing. Don't sue!**

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**Chapter One**

The heavy train car doors squealed unpleasantly as they were pulled open, daylight flooding the confined space showing the dust dancing in the air. Loud footsteps echoed on the floor as the silhouetted shapes of at least five men, along with their weapons held across strong chests, moved into the early morning light streaming into the darkness.

Stiff bodies that had been laying on the hard floor, or huddled against the side of the train car letting the freezing cold of the metal bite into their skin, shifted at the movement at the entrance of their makeshift prison. Sounds of shuffling could be heard as they made at least some movement to get to their feet, some moving quickly closer to a member of their group and some only making it to their knees or into tight crouches before their limbs protested.

Standing tall and using the sudden influx of light to his advantage, Rick took a moment to scan the people he had come to feel it his duty to protect. He could see quiet anger on Michonne's face as she held on to Carl's shoulder. He was pressed slightly into the woman's chest; Rick grimacing at the childlike movement, one that seemed so out of character for Carl over the past few months, knowing it had to do with the events of the previous day. Rick saw Glenn pull his arms protectively around Maggie, a hardness in his jaw ready to keep the one he loved safe, and the military man, who Glenn had since introduced as Abraham, move in front his own little group. His eyes quickly danced over and saw the new woman, Tara, help Sasha grab onto Bob's arms and help him to stand.

Rick's eyes continued to scan for a second more, searching out the last member of the group, as his eyes fell onto an unusually still Daryl sitting in the corner where the daylight hadn't been able to reach. Usually the first one to be up and ready in a defensive stance when an unknown threat was about, Daryl had been the only one to make no move once the door had opened. Instead, he had remained as he was in the corner of the car, his back flush against the metal behind him, his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands resting at his sides. Rick would have thought him unconscious if not for the fact he could see the man's eyes were open and narrowed, by both distrust and swelling from the beating he took the previous day, staring at the armed men who had invaded their space. Still, there were no signs of him moving. Rick's jaw clenched and he chastised himself at not checking up on the man more throughout their night in captivity, hoping it was just aches that kept the man stationary.

He was so lost in his study of Daryl, Rick hadn't noticed the sixth man walking slowly forward, pushing past the shoulders of the two burliest henchmen, and closer to the centre of the train car. The dark-haired man considered Rick with his eyes for a moment, following his gaze to the prone man in the corner, and smiling to himself before speaking.

"Ringleader!" Rick jumped and drew his eyes to the obvious leader as Gareth's raised voice boomed around the confined space, directed at him. A chuckle escaped the younger man's lips, and Rick didn't miss his brown eyes flick over to the corner of the room again. "Now that I have your attention, it might be a good time for us to have a little chat. Our formal introduction didn't quite go as well as it usually does."

"You let us out of here." The ex-deputy sheriff took a step forward, his hands in the air, and wore the best look of sincerity he could muster. "It was a mistake for us to come here. Let us go and no hard feelings. We've had enough loss with fighting other people, we're not interested in that. We'll just be on our way."

Rick's eyes caught movement in his peripheral vision and his attention shifted as he saw Daryl finally make a move to stand. The beaten hunter had sluggishly pulled himself to his knees, staying there on visibly shaking arms, and Rick was grateful to see Glenn quickly untangle himself from Maggie and go to help him up the rest of the way.

Gareth suddenly let out a harsh burst of laughter, one that seemed too menacing for his slight frame, and it pulled Rick's attention back to their captors. There was something about the way the man held himself that made Rick feel dread seep into his bones. He had that air of calm, an arrogance of being completely and utterly in control, that reminded him too much of The Governor to have him feel anything else.

"Whilst I can see why that is rather appealing to you right now, it really isn't an option here," Gareth answers, holding his arms up in a shrug. "You might have guessed this by now, but all that 'sanctuary for all' bullshit was a bit of a lie. Sorry about that. It's amazing how many people have fallen for it really. You see, this is Terminus. That means it is the end of the line."

Rick's stomach flipped and he felt the others behind him bristle, but held his hand behind him slightly to signal them all to stay quiet, that he would handle this. His mind was formulating a response but before he could managed it the thought process was made redundant.

"I don't think you really understand here, twinkle toes." Rick flinched at the voice behind him as Abraham confidently took the few steps forward, planting his back directly in front of Rick, cutting him off from Gareth. Rick looked across to Glenn with a questioning expression on his face when the military man spoke again. "You see, we ain't your average travellers, and you ain't no Wizard of Oz. We have someone important here, who might well be able to save everything from those un-dead bast.."

Abraham was cut short as with a quick nod of his head, Gareth beckoned one of this henchmen to step forward and ram the butt of his weapon into the large man's nose. Hands flew up to catch the blood that was suddenly gushing and Rick and Michonne had to move quickly to grab the angry man's shoulders before he moved the tackle his attacker.

"Stop it," growled Rick in the taller man's ear, applying enough pressure to his shoulder for the man to take note and step back reluctantly, nursing his wound and giving dirty looks to everyone, including Rick.

"To be honest, GI Joe," Gareth said almost singsong through smiling lips, "I don't really care what story you come up with about how important any of you are. It won't be anything we haven't heard already. People say anything when they beg for their lives."

Something in the way man spoke, deliberately and carefully, told the policeman in Rick that this was a well-educated man. He also guessed from the sizable chip on the relatively young man's shoulder that he most likely came from a privileged family, probably got to go to an Ivy League college and more-than-likely had a free pass on any untoward behaviour. He hated kids like this. Especially so now that he was stood in front of one who not only appeared to be a sociopath, but also had sizable manpower behind him. _**Shit.**_

"What do you want from us?" Rick stepped forward once again, putting himself between Gareth and the seething man he could hear pacing behind him, still cursing his bloody nose.

Gareth cocked his head, and seemed to be considering his answer when there was a knock at the entrance to the train car and Mary, the woman who had welcomed Glenn and others into Terminus, appeared. She walked into the space holding a large tray of what looked like some sort of hard bread (the homemade kind when you didn't have any of the nice ingredients at hand) and a large pile of cooked meat. Some pieces looked almost grey, like pork, and others an array of anaemic pinks that just didn't quite look like beef. The smell of cooked food assaulted the confined space and each member of the group subconsciously shifted forward to see what was being brought in, their hunger betraying their instincts.

"I'm going to make this quick, Ringleader," Gareth spoke again, shifting the attention away from the meat, not speaking again until Rick's eyes were on his own. "You need to choose one of your people to give over to us, right now, then the rest of you can be left alone for a few more days."

"Wha...what?" Rick stammered, confused by this piece of information. Movement at the corner of his eyes once again caught his attention and he saw Daryl step forward gingerly, wincing slightly, but putting himself where Rick could see him without having to turn away from Gareth. Rick knew Daryl was doing it out of habit, in case Rick needed to convey any sort of message quickly for Daryl to act on.

"You'll all get water...," Gareth gestures to Mary to place to plate of food on the floor at this feet, "...food. You'll be left alone, for now. We just want one of you to start with."

"Want one of us?" Rick's confusion was growing by the second and he ran his hand over his dishevelled beard, unsure of whether the man intended to harm them or convert someone into one of their group. "What do you mean?"

"I won't lie...," he clucked, _that_ smile playing on his lips again. Rick knew he was getting off on this and hated that he was seemingly playing into his hands. "You won't be seeing them again."

Gareth looked down and nudged the tray of meat towards Rick with his foot, making the plate scrape against the metal, and smiled, flashing impossibly white teeth for the end of the world. The younger man took a deep breath, smelling the cooked flesh beneath him, a look of ecstasy slipping onto his features before his eyes fell pointedly onto the meat before them.

"Well," Gareth's tongue snaked out of his mouth quickly and he sucked on his bottom lip, before continuing, "not exactly."

The realisation hit Rick like the train their current jail used to be a part of as he heard Glenn vocalise the horror of what he was being asked to decide.

"Dude...you eat _people_?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you both for the reviews :-) I'm really enjoying writing this one (not sure I should really admit that all too readily!) so I am glad you are enjoying. Don't worry, I'm not a romance or OC kind of girl. _

_For anyone who had seen this appearing on the KinkMeme - I will be posting Chapters Three and Four here to catch up, and then carrying on with the updates! _

_Disclaimer: I __**still**__ don't own anything, dagnabit._

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Two**

Daryl's head was pounding and the air in the train car felt stifling hot to him, but he could feel strength returning to his limbs the longer he stood, breathing in and out deeply through his now. He could feel a sharp pain in his side on every inhale, he was pretty sure at least one rib was broken, but knew getting the air into his lungs was the key to getting rid of the fog that was making him feel so sluggish. He shook his head briefly, and tried his best to concentrate on the dialogue being batted back and forth between the sparring leaders.

"I'm not choosing anyone." Rick spat. "You're sick, all of you."

"Now, now, let's not get all judgemental here. We simply like to give our guests a bit of control over their inevitable fate." A scrunch of his nose showed Gareth's amusement in his own trail of thought. "Just imagine how much more interesting it would have been if the lobsters could have picked themselves in all those fancy restaurants."

"I'm not choosing." Rick's foot collided hard with the tray in front of him and chunks of human meat scattered towards their captors. He noticed Daryl duck suddenly and try to stumble away from a wayward piece flying towards his slightly more advanced position. His reactions were slower than usual and Rick heard a muffled "fuck" come from the hunter as one piece hit him on the thigh.

"Hey! Hey!" Gareth moved forward in outrage, finally betraying an emotion on his face, "That was good meat!"

"Good meat!" Rick roared, advancing quickly too and going almost nose-to-nose with the younger man. The henchmen raised their guns and trained them on him, but he barely noticed. "That was a person. A person! What do you do? You trick us to come here, put us in a cage like this one and slowly pick us off to eat?"

Without flinching Gareth pushes his lips together and bring his index finger to his chin, as if mock-thinking.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"I. am. not. choosing." Rick gets out through gritted teeth. "I can't, and I'm not. I'm not the leader of these people, not anymore."

"It sure looks like you are to me." Gareth crows, looking beyond Rick's shoulder at the rest of the group, leaning in close to Rick's ear and whispering low. "And, trust me, you are going to be making this decision. One way or the other."

Rick's eyes follow Gareth's and looking at the faces staring back at him he realises how easily he has slipped back into the leader role. He'd forgotten how natural it felt, how he was always willing to lead his people, and now those that helped his people reunite, as soon as they were in danger.

His eyes flickered over to Daryl once again, just for an instant, to try and get a quick reading of what his unofficial lieutenant thought of the situation. He frowned at seeing the man swaying on his feet slightly before he could catch his gaze properly, and the brief moment was all that was needed to give their captor an opening.

Gareth lunged forward and grabbed the redneck by his jacket collar, dragging him forwards in one quick motion before Rick could even react. The force of the movement took Daryl by surprise and the man ended up crashing to his knees beside Gareth, the burliest of men behind them instantly reaching low and grabbing the hunter in a chokehold and dragging him to his feet.

Daryl tried to twist from the man's grip, adrenaline finally giving him some strength, and Rick started to move, getting forward only an inch before Gareth raised his hands and the rest of the gunmen levelled their weapons at the rest of the group behind him. Both men stilled instantly, recognising the threat to their people.

"Looks like your friend here took a bit of a beating in the last few days." Gareth turns and grabbed Daryl's chin roughly, pushing his head up towards the light. "Looks like he's got to have some sort of a concussion going on there, and I tell you what, you've been giving him some mightily concerned looks since I've been in here."

Daryl's eyes flashed with a look of surprise before Gareth pushed his head away abruptly, forcing his chin down onto the sweaty of arm of his enforcer. Rick mentally kicked himself for being so obvious, for showing a weakness so blatently.

"We wouldn't want your little friend here to get hurt anymore now, would we?"

Before Rick could answer, or even contemplate the veiled threat, Gareth grabbed the gun from the nearest man and brought the butt down heavily on the back of Daryl's skull, making his body jerk in the still-strong chokehold, his legs momentarily buckling before scrabbling and finding purchase once again.

"Stop," Rick inched forward, hands once again held in front of him. "Please, don't hurt him."

"Well, that's an easy one." Gareth bought the gun above his head, ready to strike again. His voice was calm, dripping with confidence. "Choose one of them to die. Chose a sacrifice."

Rick stared forward at the bowed head of his best friend and saw it slowly draw up, foggy eyes searching him out. Rick's lips down-turned as he shook his head slowly to give the man who was going to take brunt of his next word a little bit of warning. Rick saw a small nod in return and knew it was okay.

"No."

The gun came crashing down again and this time the chokehold was released, allowing the struck man to crash to the floor. Rick felt bodies surge behind him but swept out his arms to keep them from flocking forward. He couldn't risk one of the gunmen thinking it was more of a movement of threat than concern for a friend and opening fire.

"Me!" Rick's voice suddenly boomed, stilling the room. Gareth turned to face him, a look of interest on his face. "I choose me. Take me."

Gareth took long, graceful strides to meet Rick, openly looking him up and down as if to size up the meat on his bones. Rick shuddered at the action, trying not to let his mind think about the fate that could be in store for him. Instead, he drew his eyes to Daryl, who was slowly pulling himself up off the floor, eyes staring up at Rick with what an emotion he hoped he had misconstrued. It looked like anger.

"No." Gareth's sudden response snapped Rick's attention back. "I don't think I'm going to allow that."

"But..."

"Why don't we take this outside?" Gareth flexed his hands, handing the gun back to his man and turning his back on his hostages. "It's a lovely morning out there, we might as well make the most of it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Rick's eyes burned from the hazy morning sunlight, his vision attempting to adjust to the change from the endless darkness of the train car. He was being led down the steps he had reluctantly climbed up the previous day as an armed Terminus resident walked both in front and behind him. He assumed this was meant to be a deterrent from trying to escape but when he looked up he inwardly laughed at how redundant it was. They needn't have bothered because as soon as he saw what awaited, he knew he wouldn't be able to do a thing.

It took a moment for the scene before him to seem real. His friends were all on their knees, lined up around the dusty concourse. They were surrounded by at least a dozen men with guns, not counting the snipers he knew were hidden on the rooftops and probably more gunmen hidden in the undergrowth behind the fences of the compound. Gareth was stood in front of them, flanked by four more guards. One particularly heavy-set man had Daryl on his knees directly at his feet, a pistol touching the back of his head.

Rick was walked over to the others and forced to his knees as well. He mentally took in their surroundings, hoping to see something that would enlighten him to a way in which he could make sure they all made it out of this alive. He came up alarmingly empty.

He saw Gareth turn to Daryl's own personal bodyguard and, talking in a hushed voice, obviously indicated that it was the man's job to keep that certain prisoner under control. The larger man seemed amused, sneering down at Daryl.

"Don't worry," his rough voice jeered, "he shouldn't be any problem. We've dealt with 6-year-olds with more fight in them than this one."

Rick grimaced. If he had learnt anything about Daryl Dixon over the time he knew him, it was that a comment like that was never going to go down well. He wasn't sure if it would be the mention of the harm that had obviously come to children by these men's hands or the slur on his own manliness that would do did it, but he was proven right when it appeared as if a switch had been flipped in his friend's head.

With speed the man had no right to still possess in his current state, Daryl whipped round to knock the pistol out of that hand of the man behind him. Before they could react he quickly made his way to his feet and tackled the bearded man that had just spoken. Driving his shoulder into his stomach, Daryl landed on top and proceeded to reign his fists down onto the man's shocked face.

Daryl only got in a handful of punches before the other men surrounding Gareth reacted, grabbing any part of the possessed redneck to try and haul him off. Glenn made an impulsive move forward but was caught by his hair by the man standing behind him, and was made to watch with the rest of the group as Daryl did his best to fight off the hands of three men.

The four of them ended up in a pile on the floor wrestling, Daryl using his characteristically scrappy fighting style to get hits in any way he could, and doing surprisingly well for a short moment. It was only when one of the men managed to loop his arms through the holes in Daryl's leather vest did they completely gain the upper hand. A quick barrage of hits assaulted the hunter's torso and in the scuffle one man grabbed the front of Daryl's shirt to yank him upwards, only to find the shirt tearing under the opposing force of his comrade still holding on to the vest.

"Wily little fucker, aren't ya?" The standing man spat the words into Daryl's face as his lifted his fist to strike him again.

**"ENOUGH!"**

They were all frozen by a gunshot that rang out from Gareth's pistol, the shot clearly echoing in the quiet morning air.

"Get him here!" Gareth yelled, lowering the pistol.

Two men grabbed onto Daryl and hauled him up to his feet. The man who had had a hold of his leather vest didn't let go and after some grappling the item of clothing was ripped from Daryl's back, along with his long-sleeved jacket. It took with it some of the torn fabric that had made up his shirt, baring a portion of his chest, upper back and one arm. He was half-dragged back to his place in front of Gareth and forced to kneel again, facing his acquired family. His heavy breaths filled the air but his face stayed cool, betraying no hint of fear or pain.

Rick didn't miss the slight cock of Gareth's head as he took in the bare skin of the man in front of him. A spark of curiosity and interest flashed undeniably across his features before his usual mask of composure slipped back into place.

"That was all very unnecessary, if you ask me." Gareth spoke, the previous anger leaving his voice.

"Ain't nobody asking you." Daryl growled in response, speaking for the first time.

"Now, now Archer, I think you might need to take a few breaths and calm down." Gareth placed his hand on Daryl's bare shoulder and was immediately shrugged off. "Plus, it isn't me you should be so cross with. Ringleader here seems to be the one reluctant to pick someone as a sacrifice. I just need to make sure that he understands that no choice will get _you_ killed."

Rick felt every muscle in his body constrict. He had known this was coming as soon as Gareth had grabbed Daryl, as soon as he realised he has been so open with his concern for the man, but to hear the truth so plainly laid out still made his stomach feel like it had just dropped to his feet. Shit. Shit. _Shit._

"I am not choosing someone to die." Rick tried to keep his voice as calm and level as possible, but he couldn't keep the traces of fear out. "Leave him alone. I said take me."

"And I told _you_, that wasn't an option. You choose someone else. And if you don't choose, then I am afraid it is as good as sacrificing your friend here." Gareth punctuated this with a squeeze of muscles at the top of Daryl's bare arm and a greedy smirk. He winked at the Rick, "Good for slow cooking, this bit."

"Fine by me." The gruff reply came from Daryl, as he shrugged his arm away from the unwanted grip.

"No, Dar..." Rick began but was cut off quickly by the man knelt before them all.

"Rick, stop." Daryl's words were low, almost a whisper but with too much force behind them to be considered gentle. "It's all good, man. All good."

Rick held Daryl's eyes for a beat, and saw the unwavering stare of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. He nodded slowly, accepting the man's silent plea, before his eyes were drawn up to Gareth dramatically throwing his arms up in the air.

"Well, yes, isn't this all just stomach-churningly sweet." Gareth grimaced as though the man beneath him suddenly smelt of manure. "A little disappointing for me, I must admit. It kind of takes the fun out of it when it's just this _easy._"

He bent down to speak directly into Daryl's ear, keeping his voice low, but loud enough that the crowd before him could still hear.

"It looks like I misjudged how much your friend over their cared for you."

Rick's jaw clenched.

"Fuck you, asshole." Daryl's deep voice rumbled, the words heavy on his tongue.

The pistol that was held in Gareth's hand was slowly raised against Daryl's temple, as he brought his free hand to the remnant of the tattered shirt the other man still wore. Daryl's eyes widened slightly in a momentary panic as the younger man pulled back the cloth that covered his back and took a long, thoughtful look at the skin underneath.

"Let's make this more fun, shall we Archer?" Gareth snarled as he lowered the gun that was pressed against Daryl's head. "Seen as Ringleader isn't playing ball, hows about you and I make a little deal over here? Not too great for you - you're still going to die until he changes his mind - but maybe you can help a few of your group."

A beat of silence. A draw of breath from the hunter.

"I'm listening."

"I can't help but notice all of these... marks." Gareth runs his thumb over a scar on the flesh of Daryl's lower back, whose shoulders visibly tensed at the touch. Rick's breathing stops for a second as he realises where this is all going.

"I won't lie. I am now _very_ interested in knowing the story behind all of these." Gareth continues to inspect Daryl's skin, circling around and moving the material aside to get a better look at areas of his torso. "I mean, look at you, you're absolutely _covered_ in them."

Rick casts his eyes quickly to those at his side to see a multiple of reactions, including complete puzzlement on the faces of those new to the group that had only just met the man. Maggie and Carl wore expressions of utter shock, Rick assuming they hadn't had a reason to glimpse the things that Daryl tried exceptionally hard to cover. Michonne and Glenn, however, both wore looks of anger that mirrored his own. Rick knew they had both seen some extent of the marks on Daryl's skin at some point, he could even recall having had a brief conversation with Glenn at one point or another about how Daryl was entitled to his privacy and it was no ones business to question him on them. He knew that even though they had probably never known the true horror behind the marks that they could make a good guess of their origin, just as he had.

Rick focussed his attention back on to Daryl and could see the man shaking slightly, his lips drawn together exceedingly tight as he fought hard to maintain his cool.

"What of it?" Daryl didn't bother to move his head to direct his comment, but kept his eyes forward.

"Well, how about you choose one," Gareth looked over to the kneeling group and pondered for a moment, "...oh no, make it two, I'm feeling generous. Choose two of your friends. We'll have a nice, little conversation about how you got all these, and they can go free. Simple as that. No harm will come of them."

Daryl moved his head to the side to get a better look at the man offering the deal, wanting to look at his face before making any moves, but not being able to twist his neck enough. Still, he was the one to speak next with little hesitation.

"The kid."

"Excuse me?"

"The kid." Daryl spoke louder, his head nodding towards Carl. "I choose the kid. You set anyone free and it's him."

"Fine," Gareth indicated to the man behind Carl to bring him forward.

Rick drew a breath in and held it, a dizzying mixture of fear and cautious joy making him feel lightheaded as he saw his son moved forward.

"I said you could choose two." Gareth swept his arms out in front of him, indicating to the other kneeling figures.

Daryl looked around at those lined up in front of him, as if considering his options. His swollen and bruised eyes darted along the line quickly, then slowing and landing on Glenn. His lips began to move slightly as he chewed on them, eyes flicking down for a moment in thought before he spoke again.

"That one." Daryl's eyes met Glenn's again as he nodded his head in the direction of the woman beside his friend. They held there for a fleeting moment and the hunter saw relief in the Korean's eyes, making him feel confident about his decision. "Her. Maggie."

"No...Glenn..." Maggie started to struggle as she was pushed forward, her head wrenching back to see her husband.

"Maggie...go...please." Glenn pleaded. The desperate hitch in his voice making Maggie listen instantly and allowing herself to be led over to where Carl was waiting.

"So, that it, huh?" Daryl turned his head away from the remainder of his group, hoping they all understood his choices, and seeking out Gareth. "All I do is tell you, and they go free. No harm?"

"Well, yes." Gareth almost scoffed, obviously happy with himself for managing to draw this into an unexpected game. He paused long enough to see a hint of relief show amongst his prey before continuing, "as long as I am satisfied you are telling the truth, and leaving nothing out. I want_ all_ the details. If I'm not happy with what you give, then I kill them."

Daryl's face had visibly paled at the condition that he had to provide more than the bare minimum of information. Rick noticed he continued to chew on his lips, something the deputy sheriff had come to learn was the telltale habit of when there was more going on in the hunter's head than he was letting on. An event that happened more often than not.

Gareth obviously felt Daryl had taken too long to answer and he moved forward quickly, grabbing Maggie by the hair and pulling her forward. He swung his arm up high and levelled his gun to her head.

"Okay, okay." Daryl made a frantic move to get to his feet and to block Maggie from the pistol's path but was held down by two pairs of strong hands. The gun was lowered from Maggie's head upon his answer. "Deal. Just don't hurt them."

Rick grimaced at the glint he saw in their captors eyes as he turned his full attention back to the hunter.

"Well, let's start the real fun then, shall we?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Rick watched, helpless, as the remnants of Daryl's shirt were removed from him. Daryl's eyes closed tight as he was forced to stand and turn in a circle, showing the crowd in front of him exactly what had caught the Terminus leader's eye, not wanting to have to see the reactions of those he cared for so deeply. He didn't think he could handle the looks of disgust his mind told him to expect.

Rick could see from how the man's shoulders hunched and how his body instinctively shied away that Daryl felt incredibly vulnerable. He himself had only once before seen the full extent of the hunter's past abuse, when he had helped to undress the unconscious man so that Hershel could attend his wound back at the farmhouse. He had been completely shocked then to see the myriad of marks littering Daryl's body that had immediately explained away much of his volatile behaviour, but had been glad the injured man hadn't been aware enough to witness his reaction. And despite having seen brief glimpses in the following year, he felt as much of the same shock again now that his eyes could take them in again. Rick wondered if this was the first time his friend had ever been bared for all to see before whilst being conscious. He suspected it was.

Circling around Daryl, who was now kneeling again, Gareth let out a long, low whistle as he ran his right hand over as many of the raised, wrinkled patches of skin as possible. He made no comment of the twitches of muscle he could feel underneath his palm, but a smile ghosted his face at the mans obvious discomfort.

"First of all..." Gareth moved to stand next to Daryl's side so the hunter could almost feel him look him up and down. "Looking at you, I'm going to guess these were all daddy's doing?"

The muscles in his shoulders tensed and they drew closer to his ears as Daryl gave a slight, curt nod. His blue eyes found Ricks and held them, a hardness creeping into the edges. The other man could tell the intention was for Daryl to keep his gaze fixed there throughout. Rick knew it would help to keep the man tethered to his reason for going along with the humiliation of baring his scars and sharing the stories that had never been told that went along with them. Rick had no plans to look away.

"Let's start back here shall we?" Gareth's eyes roamed Daryl's back. "I'm guessing your Daddy liked to use his belt for discipline."

Another slight nod. The eyes never leaving his own as Rick saw the muscles in the hunter's face twitch, jaw moving slightly as his lips continued to chew on themselves.

"Well then..." Gareth drawled, raising his gun level again with Maggie's head, ignoring the worried yelp from Glenn, the threat clear, "...do share."

"All of 'em back there are from the belt." Daryl spoke clearly in his low, growling tone, an air of defiance still in his words. "He'd fetch it near on every time he came home drunk. Most nights."

"What is _this?_" Gareth's fingers scratched over a raised part of one particular scar that none of the others could see. "This pattern here? I can see it a few times but I can't make it out."

"He had a...," His Adam's apple bobbed as Daryl swallowed, his hooded lids falling over his eyes in a moment of remembering. "...a special buckle he would put on it sometimes. Said he would use it when he really needed to teach me a lesson."

A few members of the group visibly reacted to these words despite how they were spoken in such a matter-of-fact way that just didn't match up with their true meaning.

"I bet you remember exactly the first time he used that on you, don't you, Archer?"

Daryl's eyes opened, although appeared slightly unfocussed. Another curt nod.

The hammer audible fell on the pistol pointed to Maggie's head.

"I was 7." The words came out quickly. "It was the day my brother got sent to Juvie for the first time."

Maggie was pushed away from the imminent danger of the gun and surprisingly towards the arms of a grateful Glenn, Gareth wanting to shut up the near-whimpering husband so he could concentrate on the task in front of him.

"What had you done wrong?" Gareth's words sent a child up Rick's spine. "I mean, I assume it was your fault."

Daryl's body visibly tensed, his jaw noticeably clenching. Rick half-expected, and some part of him half-hoped, to hear a sarcastic quip coming out from clenched teeth about how no kid deserves to be abused like that. For a second Rick silently begged Daryl to keep it in so as not to put his son in harms way, but almost immediately felt guilty when he saw the shoulders of his closest friend sag slightly as his eyes drifted to the floor for a moment. Rick's heart sank as he saw an emotion he couldn't quite place dance in the blue eyes that had wavered when coming back up to meet his own.

"He caught me stealing a slice of bread from the kitchen for my dinner."

Rick's stomach hit his feet as the realisation dawned on him. _**Shame**_**.** It was shame that he saw litter his friends features. Rick hoped he would see something now to tell him he was wrong, that after all that had happened since the world had ended his friend no longer believed he had truly deserved his childhood punishments, but when the head dropped again just enough for long, greasy hair to fall in front the other man's eyes he knew it was not the case.

"This one here..." Moving on quickly, Gareth prodded a jagged, circular scar just above Daryl's right hip on his back. It lay on the meaty part of flesh that protected the kidneys. "..this isn't from the belt though is it?"

"Bottle." The words were quieter than before as Daryl had continued to look down, shoulders sagging a little more before he spoke the rest without being asked for more details. "I'd knocked a bottle of beer off the table. He said he might as well put it to some good use in teaching me a lesson."

A muffled noise to his left pulled Rick more into focus of the others around him, and he drew his gaze away from Daryl to glance to his side. He saw the faces of his companions all twisted in expressions of sadness and horror with a smattering of rage what Daryl had been made to endure growing up.

"How old were you?"

"13."

"Should have known better by then." Gareth slapped Daryl's shoulder, roughly, as he laughed with a joviality that was completely out of place. "Really, you didn't do yourself any favours did you, boy?"

Rick struggled not to step up at this point at seeing his friends head drop even lower so that his chin touched lightly on his chest. Knowing that the hunter almost certainly believed the words clawed at Rick's chest, knowing that his friend's conditioned mind came to accept blame as fact brought angry bile to the back of his throat, causing him to swallow it back down. Rick clenched his fists at the anger that exploded through his veins. Finally having the knowledge that he had all-but-guessed a long time ago, that Daryl had had to live in a hell long before the dead had begun to rise, being vocalised in such a way brought a sudden fury to the surface and he felt his face begin to heat. He looked across and saw similar feelings flash across the face of Michonne, her hands instinctively reaching behind her for the katana she no longer possessed.

"These aren't a belt are they?" Gareth circled again around his kneeling prisoner and came to a stop in front of him, pointing to the multitude of incisions that littered his torso in a varying degree of length and width.

"Knife." Daryl brought his head back up, and shook it roughly to try and forcibly throw the negative thoughts dancing around his mind, trying to draw his shoulders back as a mark of challenge. "He used his hunting knife a lot more as I got older."

"Knife, knife, knife, knife." Each word was accompanied by a finger roughly slicing the path of each scar individually. "What, did you learn how to not cry with the belt?"

"Something like that." Daryl's nose wrinkled and his chin rose in some sort of misplaced pride. "I got used to the belt. Could block it out better sometimes. And I would fight less with the knife. If I fought back there was a chance it would hurt more with the blade."

His hand instinctively reached up to two of the larger scars on his front, his fingers absentmindedly picking at the scar tissue as if recalling the moments he had learnt that lesson the hard way.

"You're doing good, Archer." Gareth lent down and smiled in the face of the reminiscing man. "Keep this up and The Kid and The Wife will be free in no time."

Daryl looked over to Carl and drew a breath in, steadying himself for more questions.

"Now this one." Standing suddenly, the dark-haired leader tapped on his own shoulder to indicated where he was looking. "Talk me through this one."

"I was 12." Buoyed by the idea of his friend's freedom and not wanting to waste time on drawing it out, Daryl ploughed on with an explanation. "This was because I tried to run away one night. He caught me trying to steal the truck and dragged me back into the house. Beat me to shit and threw me against my ma's old glass cabinet... It was the only nice thing we'd ever had in that house."

His filthy hands went up to feel the scar tissue that snaked from his shoulder across his collar bone and down towards his chest, pinching the thicker skin until it was white.

"The glass was stuck in there real good. I couldn't move. Couldn't get up. Couldn't do anything but try to breathe and not cry in front of him. There would have been hell to pay if I ever cried in front of the old man. Prolly' would have killed me, the mood he was in that night. He just sat in his old chair and watched me try and get it out myself...

"But I couldn't. There was too much blood for me to get a good hold of anything. I was laying there stuck to that thing for hours, bleeding all over the goddamn floor. He got bored in the end and left me to it... "

Daryl's eyes flicked up and scanned the faces of the people he trusted staring back at him. His mind struggled to understand the looks he could see on their faces, seeing only disgust and disgrace instead of the concern that was really there.

"I managed it in the end. Once the blood had started to dry a bit."

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_Note: I am now caught up, so from now on will be posting updates as and when I write them :-) _


	5. Chapter 5

_Author Note: Hello everyone, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed or followed the story, I have absolutely loved writing this so far and people enjoying it makes me happy. A warning hat this the last of the pre-written stuff, so updates won't be as quick(!) but hope to get them to you all in a timely fashion. _

_I really hope you enjoy this one. I got very into it. _

_BN._

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**Chapter Five**

When Daryl was younger he'd learnt quickly that sometimes it was better to retreat into your head when there were things around that you couldn't, or rather shouldn't have to, deal with. Growing up in a house of hatred, surrounded by the sounds of fighting, screaming and flesh hitting flesh he'd developed a number of coping mechanisms to get through the worst of it. When he was smaller and faced with one of the particularly violent episodes it was as small counting backwards from one hundred or reciting his favourite book (a tatty copy of Green Eggs and Ham that Merle had managed to steal from the library for him) in his head over and over. When faced with a torrent of verbal abuse, whether from his daddy, Merle, the kids at school or whoever else thought it was worth pointing out how worthless he was, he tended to concentrate on picking off the skin around his fingernails.

As he got older and life just continued to rain down absolute shit onto his head and the abuse intensified he found that on those nights that his father was relentless with his attacks, he was able to shut parts of his mind off, to mentally check out from it all. He could still feel every whip of the belt or slice of the knife or pounding of fist and feet, but it was like his mind no longer needed to process it anymore. It made it easier to not cry out in pain.

In the end it had become all-to-easy to switch his mind off during his father's (and by that time Merle's too) tempers. But then, by the time he was in his late teenage years, he found it harder and harder to turn it back on afterwards. If he was honest he'd probably given up trying too hard anyway; there was nothing to turn it back on for. The eager-to-please five-year-old who had bounded cautiously up to his peers on his first day of Kindergarten had become a don't-give-a-shit, uninterested but volatile man. He had followed Merle around doing nothing with his life because he never had a reason not to. He had left his mind on a sort of standby setting; he was living and breathing but nothing about him was alive.

And then the world had ended. He had lost Merle.

He had found _them_.

At first he followed along with their plans because it was what he had been doing all this adult life; following others. He didn't have any of his own and he just couldn't bring himself to be alone when the world had gone to shit. Simply, there was a safety in numbers and he wasn't ready to give up now when he'd been surviving since he could walk.

But slowly, almost imperceptibly, something began to change.

It was only when Sofia got her damned-self lost in those woods that he realised with a jolt of surprise that he cared. He _really, truly_ cared about these people. As he spent more and more days in their company his mind was slowly coming back to life. He would sometimes remember the image of the living brain full of light and sparks of electricity on the screen at the CDC and find it ironic that it felt like his brain was doing the opposite of those turning into walkers around them. The apocalypse may have been the death of everyone else, but it was the re-birth of him.

Slowly, he'd begun to see these people as his family, and through their love began to feel value in himself. He'd started to welcome it when he felt another part of his closed-off mind open up, whether it was beginning to accept that not all touch was a by-product of anger and not all words were aimed to hurt. He began to trust. Maybe for the first time in his life.

However, as a downside, he also found that when things went wrong, as they always did, he found it harder to shut his mind off as easily as before. He realised it first when they found Sofia. He had reacted strongly, unable to deal with the overwhelming feelings of loss and it was something that terrified him. He had tried to pull away from the group then, to go back to not caring and not feeling, but Carol hadn't let him and something about the way these people kept accepting him just kept dragging him right back in. He had to learn to confront the new emotions and feelings that began assaulting him at times...the overwhelming love he felt for Judith when he first held her, the joy at finding Carol alive in that room in the tombs, the heart-wrenching regret at leaving the prison group behind to go off with Merle.

Merle.

There were those times he had _hated _them all for doing this to him. Times he had tried to draw back from them all, just like he had done on the farm after Sofia had come shuffling out of that barn, and shut it all off when it became too much for his emotional-stunted mind to deal with. Like when he'd broken down, in a way he hadn't done since he was a nine-year-old boy, when he found his brother as one of the un-dead, completely drowned in sorrow the moment he set his eyes on him. Like in the aftermath of the Governor's attack on the prison, after losing Hershel in such a violent and unnecessary way and thinking he had lost everything, when he was buried under guilt so strong it almost suffocated him. Like when Beth was snatched away from him after she had managed to spark something during their time together to remind him of how much better a man he had been since he had cast off his old life, how he had actually had something to lose for the first time ever.

Loving and caring about these people lined up in front of him right now had opened Daryl up in a way he could never thank them for, he knew that. But in opening him up to accept good, they had made him vulnerable to the bad all over again. In growing into a person he always so desperately wanted to be, one that was good enough to be an integral part of this new family, it had dulled his ability to shut his mind off as adeptly as he had done when we was younger. It left him open to pain, and suffering, and everything that summed up his childhood.

Daryl silently cursed them all as Gareth approached him once again, the younger man's eyes roaming over his chest and spotting one more scar that he hadn't pointed out yet. Daryl felt his blood turn to ice as he mentally wished it was as simple as finding a switch to turn off within in his mind.

He cursed them all for teaching him how to feel.

He didn't want to anymore.

* * *

"This one..." Gareth picked out a long, jagged scar at the bottom of Daryl's abdomen, patting the skin on his stomach. This scar ran parallel with his visible hip bone and then shot up towards his ribs along his side, the broken skin hitching in places to make a broken path. "...it's not quite like the others"

"Still a knife." Daryl's voice took on a cold edge, fighting with everything he had not to let anything out, knowing he was fighting a losing battle now. He suddenly brought his eyes back up to lock eyes with Rick again, as if he needed all the strength possible to confront this particular demon. Rick mentally readied himself to let nothing he may be about to hear make him betray any feelings across his features, knowing from the look in his eyes that Daryl was staring at the first person he had ever trusted undoubtedly not to hurt him. He could not betray that. "Just a kitchen knife this time."

"Well, well, your daddy stabbed you in the stomach, did he?"

"'twas only a shallow one." False bravado and barely-contained rage dripped off every word.

"Doesn't look shallow to me." Gareth pulsed forward, grabbing Daryl's shoulder and bending to imitate with his hand the way the man must have delved the blade deep into his son's stomach and then pulled up, the knife snagging on skin, to create the scar. A smile played on his lips. "How old, huh? And what did you do to deserve that one, Archer?"

"Nine" Daryl's jaw and fists clenched simultaneously to keep himself in check, trying to block everything out but the steadying gaze of his own leader. "I was nine. Ma had burned three days earlier"

A sudden movement in front of him had Daryl flinching as Gareth moved quickly.

"That is not what I asked!" Two steps took the deceptively strong man over to Carl and yanked him up by his hair, suddenly producing a knife that Daryl hadn't even realised the man had possessed and pressing it against the teenager's throat. Rick went to stand, concern for everyone else dissipating instantly as he saw his son in trouble, but was met with an arm wrapping around his neck. Daryl winced at the scene before him, seeing two people he cared about in jeopardy because of his lacklustre answer.

"Listen again." Gareth's words were slow and intense. He was loving every second of this. "What did _**you**_do to deserve it this time? We all know you did something. You must have, no one stabs their son for no reason!"

Daryl took a long, shuddering breath in and swallowed audibly. His eyes flicked to those in front of him, a small amount of heat tingeing his pale cheeks showing he was ashamed to be admitting this in front of them. Glenn, Maggie, Michonne, Carl...Rick. He'd never wanted them to know this. Never wanted to have to see their reaction. He felt sick in anticipation of seeing the moment their faces showed they finally realised the type of person he really was. His eyes lingered on Carl, on the terror in the boy's eyes as the knife glinted in the sunlight, and knew he had no choice.

"It..it was m...my fault she died." He stammered the words in a way that was so un-Daryl-like. The rest of the group noticed the significant change and collectively held their breath as Daryl closed his bruised eyelids over watering eyes. "I shoulda been looking after her but I..I was stupid. I left her alone and I went to play outside with the kids from up the street. She never really got out of bed by then, just smoked and drank, so it was up to us...well, up to me by then...to look after...to look after them."

"Them?" Gareth's voiced piqued in interest. He was loving this, and Rick hated him even more for that.

Two violent shudders ripped through Daryl's body. He didn't even bother to try and hide them. Gareth noticed a sudden reluctance in the man, saw an utter refusal to open his eyes or let the tears fall and a visible wobble in the way he held himself on his knees, as if he were about to drop to the floor at any moment.

"Them? Who do you mean by them?" Gareth raised his voice. The further hesitation from the hunter made Gareth dig the knife that was being pressed into Carl's neck in slightly deeper so it bit into skin. The boy made an involuntary yelp of pain while a line of blood trailed down his extended neck and Daryl's eyes snapped open as if being brought back from his own thoughts. Rick made another attempt to lurch forward, which made Daryl throw his hands up quickly, eyes darting to Rick to let him know he had this under control.

Daryl made an attempt to speak, but the only thing audible was a gargled groan, as if the words had literally caught in his airway. He cleared his throat and spat a wad of phlegm mixed with blood onto the floor, taking the briefest of moments to compose himself before he spoke quietly, but clearly.

"My ma and... my sister." Daryl wavered, breathing heavily in and out of his nose. His lips quivered and his jaw clenched impossibly tighter in his best attempt to keep any emotion from escaping. "He said I killed them both. Ma and Jenny.

"My baby sister, Jenny. She was only three..."

Rick sucked in a breath as the arm was released from his neck and he fought the urge to go towards the hunter, to offer some kind of support to the man visibly breaking in front of him. Strong shoulders and a head once held high were sagging underneath an invisible weight, eyes that had once showed unbelievable resolve and sought out strength in others suddenly looked nowhere in particular but darted around in an attempt to see nothing at all.

Pieces of the ever-complicated puzzle that was Daryl Dixon suddenly snapped into place for Rick. His arduous search for Sofia when she was lost in the woods, his complete refusal to give up searching for her, and his willingness to die to find a young girl he had no reason to care so tenaciously for suddenly made so much more sense. The affinity and obvious love he has...had...for Judith, the ease he had for attending to her needs right from the beginning, suddenly becoming less shockingly unexpected. It all made sense.

Rick couldn't get his friend's eyes to latch on to his own, despite how he tried to seek them out. Gareth was stood beside Daryl with a grin wider than the Cheshire Cat, and Rick wished then that he was close enough to rip another mans throat out with his teeth. He would gladly do it.

"I left her in that house alone with Ma." Daryl continued to talk. Unspoken words coming out of his mouth as if the dam on his shame had been broken, and the man was just to exhausted to stop them tumbling out. His whole body trembled as he tried to contain the emotion boiling up to the surface with a surprising force. "I shoulda been looking after her. It was my job to look after her...just like Merle looked after me. I didn't protect her. He would've been able to. "

The next words that were spoken were so quiet a sudden gust of wind would have been loud enough to eclipse them, to pick them up out of the air around them and have them lost forever.

"They were both burnt. Just...gone. All cos of me."

A moment of pure silence followed as the words settled themselves on the hearts of the captive group as they watched their friend wobble on his knees once again, doing all he could to stay upright, obviously struggling with the physical and emotional pain of the situation. The air felt heavy with a mixture of sympathy, shock and fury.

A harsh, barking cough broke everyone out of their reverie as Gareth stepped forward and pushed the Daryl backwards so that he fell onto his bare back. He received no resistant from his weakened prisoner who just lay there as Gareth bent low, prodding at the uneven pinpricks of puckered skin that followed the scar on it's journey up the man's torso. Daryl made no move to indicate he had even felt the touch and his stillness frightened Rick.

"Well, that certainly does sound like you deserve it. I'm surprised he didn't just kill you there and then." Gareth pushed his face close to Daryl's, so close the hunter could feel the heat from his breath. "I would have. He do the shitty job trying to stitch you back up?"

"No." Daryl's voice was still quiet with none of the usual gruff tone to it as he rolled slowly to his side, eyes momentarily meeting Rick's before darting away. "That was me. Done the best I could with an old needle and thread."

Rick's stomach churned again as he heard a small gasp from this right and glanced in the direction to see Maggie with her eyes closed and a tear making a track down her dirty face. Glenn was holding her hand tight enough for knuckles to turn as white as his face paled.

Rick didn't turn his attention back to Daryl when he heard the man start heaving and the sound of bile hitting the dusty floor. No one did.

Instead, they all stood, averting their gazes as best the could, as dry heaves mixed with one, singular muffled sob echoing through the still air.


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: Still own nothing. _

_Author note: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourite or followed. Means the world. _

_I hope you like this chapter. BN_

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**Chapter Six**

There was an unnerving stillness that had settled over the area following the final admission from the man now laying motionless on his side, arms folded tightly around his torso, his face laying mere inches from the blood-speckled bile he had brought up. It was times like this when the lack of background noise that accompanied the end of the world became painfully obvious. The silence stretched, weaving its way around the throats of the emotionally-shattered group waiting, with dread in their stomach, for someone to make the next move in this macabre show of psychological torture.

Carl had been dropped to the floor when Gareth had released the knife from its position at his throat. He'd landed in a heap just a few metres away for Daryl and it had taken everything in him to not go forward to the hunter as Gareth had attacked the man. He had listened in shock as Daryl had revealed more to the story he had been told when the boy's own mother had just died. Carl had known at the time that Daryl had shared his past loss as a way to comfort him, it being the hunter's own way to let Carl know that he wasn't alone. He had appreciated the usually quiet man breaking his silence on his pre-walker personal life for him. He wondered now if Daryl had intentionally left out the revelation that his sister had also perished in case the man ever had the reason to console him after losing Judith. Carl didn't want to think about that right now.

"That is pretty disgusting, Archer." Gareth kicked flecks of vomit from one of his boots. He stood were he had been, his legs still straddling Daryl, as he bent down to speak in the man's turned-away face. "I didn't expect you to have such a weak stomach."

"...uck you." The words were muffled, being spoken directly into the dirt as Daryl didn't even bother to lift his cheek from where it lay against the warming dirt.

"I see you still have your manners about you." Gareth said, his voice laced with mirth. He raised his hand in preparation to lightly cuff the prone man's head.

"Leave him alone." It was Glenn that spoke, with a voice full of false confidence, unable to stand by idly anymore after witnessing Daryl Dixon more vulnerable than Glenn could have ever imagined his friend could be. "He's done exactly what you asked, now just leave him alone."

Gareth looked over at the young man still clinging onto his wife and smiled. He lowered his hand and then swung one leg so he was no longer standing above Daryl. "So he has. And a what a fine job, too, telling us all about his past misbehaviours."

"I tell you, it sounds like your father had quite the time trying to keep you in line." Gareth's eyebrows shot up in a challenge to Glenn to speak up again, but was met with silence as the other man didn't want to push his luck and get someone else hurt. Unwavering, Gareth moved his attention back to Daryl, nudging him in the back with his boot. "Although, by the little wrestling show you provided us earlier, it appears you were just too stupid to take those lessons on board. You probably could have saved yourself a lot of these marks if you'd have been able to."

"Go ta hell." Daryl spat the words as he rolled onto his onto his stomach. He used his arms to pull himself up and slowly hauled himself to one knee, where he stayed crouched, his eyes full of fury staring up at Gareth. Rick noticed how Daryl's shoulders no longer hunched and how his face no longer held any emotion in it. "Now, I did what ya asked, that was all I got to tell. Let 'em go."

"Oh, don't you worry." Gareth waved his hands at Daryl, as if brushing off the man's request. "You stuck to the deal and I am nothing but a man of my word. Once we've finished this, they will be free to go."

"We've finished." Daryl's voice held an authority that his quickly-darting eyes betrayed. "Let 'em go."

"Oh contraire, I don't think we have." Gareth moved towards the hunter again, his hand moving gently to thumb through his hair before grabbing a handful of the long, greasy locks and yanking Daryl's head up towards his own. "You may have held up your end of the bargain but Ringleader over here is still dragging his feet."

Rick bristled at the mention of his nickname being attached to the violent action. He grimaced as Gareth leant further into Daryl so that his breath was hot on the man's cheek, his mouth almost touching the dirty hair surrounding his ear.

"It's not really fair, is it," he clucked. "You having to tell us about how much you pushed your father to maim you and _he_ can't even be bothered to say one, single name."

"He don't need ta choose." Daryl struggled to get his head away from the man's putrid breath - he hoped that wasn't the smell of human flesh burning his nostrils. "You said you'd kill me anyway. If that is his choice, then fine."

"Ah, yes I did. But I don't think you understand. I didn't say that would be the end of today." Gareth released his hold on the man's hair and stepped behind him so he was directing his words at Daryl, but made sure Rick knew they were for him. "If you die and _he _still hasn't chosen, then I'm afraid we'll just have to pick on someone else to get him to make the choice. All I want is for him to say a name.

"Maybe I'll choose someone he actually cares for this time."

Gareth's features suddenly twisted and he brought down a hard kick to Daryl's lower back. The blow forced air out of the battered man's lungs, making him double over, resting his chest on his one bent knee, winded. Rick heard him suck in a few, desperate breaths.

"Ringleader!" Abandoning his stance behind the bent Daryl, Gareth stepped forward. "What say you?"

"I told you, I can't choose any of them." Rick's voice remained as calm as he could keep it. He hoped none of the fear he was feeling would creep in. "It isn't up to me. I've said, take me. You'll have what you want."

"What I want," Gareth advanced, coming up to Rick's face, his voiced barely containing the anger he was obviously feeling, "is to hear you say the name of one of your people. The one that you want us to take away and _cook_."

"I won't." Rick tried to ignore the choice of words as his eyes held steadily on Gareth' despite the fact the man was towering above him. He didn't miss the ripple of fury across the man's features.

"This is just going to carry on until you do."

A silence stretched into the tension-filled air. Neither man looked away or even flinched as they remained locked in a staring contest. Eventually, Gareth made a move as he brought his face closer to Rick's and hissed his next threat through clenched teeth.

"I am going to find out how much pain it takes to make him scream." Each word was drawn out to make sure they had as much impact as possible. "And how long it takes you to decide you just can't take hearing your little friend crying for mercy."

"I'm not choosing anybody." Rick's eyes roamed over to Daryl, who had recovered from the blow to his back and was now once again resting on one knees. He saw the man draw his shoulders back and lift his chin higher.

"And I ain't gonna be begging for nothin'." The hunter's voice was suddenly filled with the rumbling tone that Rick was used to. It filled him with a furtive confidence that the man in front of him could handle anything the Terminus leader could think to throw at him.

Gareth took a moment to look between the two men, irritation clearly evident at the show of defiance. It satisfied Rick in a perverse way that they could still get underneath the man's skin no matter how much in control of the situation he was.

"Have it your way."

Gareth turned suddenly and made his way over to the henchmen lined up in front of the main group, flanking Daryl with three men on either side. Rick watched as he walked slowly down the line, his head cocking slightly as he reached each man, considering something that Rick wasn't sure he wanted to know. Once Gareth had inspected each of the six men he returned to the second one, a stocky man with arm muscles that made Daryl's look like twigs, and held out his hand while giving the man an instruction that was too quietly spoken for anyone else to hear. Rick saw an instant panic in Daryl's eyes as the sound of a belt buckle being undone reached his ears, the hunter not able to hide the fear that lingered on his bruised face. Rick felt the same panic rise in his chest.

Any satisfaction Rick had felt quickly dissipated.

"Do it to me, leave hi...," Rick started to plead.

"Unless you are saying a name then I do not want to hear a peep out of you." Gareth slapped the tight leather belt across his palm and then held it with both hands, having bent the item in two to make a shorter whip. Looking over to Carl still huddled on the ground he continued, "and don't make me go back on my word and undo all of Archer's hard work!"

Daryl threw Rick with a look so openly oozing warning that his mouth slammed shut immediately. It was a look that reminded Rick of the volatile Daryl of old, the one who, whilst hungover at the CDC, had very nearly succeeded in taking off Dr Jenner's head with an axe, and he realised that the man's well-built walls were well and truly back up. He hated to admit it, but it made Rick feel better to see this side of the man right now. That despite the beatings, the emotional trauma of re-living the worst moments of his life and the threat of more physical abuse to come, the man still had an undeniable fight left in him. As sick as it make Rick, if Daryl was willing to do this then he could sure as hell do his best to keep his own mouth shut whilst Gareth did what he planned.

"Are you ready for this, Archer?" Gareth was almost bouncing on his toes, his excitement at inflicting physical pain evident.

"You not been listening?" Daryl tried to keep his voice casual, but there was an undeniable waver as he eyed the belt and it lacked any real conviction. "Ain't nothing new to me, hoss. Do your worst."

Rick wanted to look away, but his eyes stay fixed on the scene before him. He saw Daryl close his eyes slowly, taking a deep breath in through his nose and quickly out through partly-opened lips. He watched the man do this three times to prepare himself, much like a boxer does when working themselves up for a fight, and then took in one last deep breath, holding it.

As he felt the man behind him set himself into position and raise the arm holding the belt, Daryl slowly let all the air that he had held in out through his mouth. A look of sudden calm came over his face, his eyes remaining closed and his body relaxing. Rick realised he had seen the man do this before on a regular basis. Every time they had been out hunting together and Daryl was preparing to take the kill shot he would do this routine, what the hunter had told Rick was his shot sequence, that he had developed to make sure he hit his target every time. He had told Rick it was just a habit that was all about stilling his mind, relaxing everything, quieting any doubts and finding a calm. Rick could only hope he'd managed to find a calm this time as well.

Gareth brought his arm crashing down and the sound of leather smacking against flesh reverberated through the ears of those being forced to watch, multiple bodies flinching as the hunter's body was jerked forward with the force of the hit. Without taking a moment's pause Gareth brought his lanky arm back up and down with even more force, before repeating the motion again. And again. And again. And again.

Daryl made no sound except for the last wisp of air in his lungs being forced past his lips.

Rick could only watch, and hate himself more with every blow to his friend.


	7. Chapter 7

_A kind of short, 'bonus' chapter today. Hope that is okay. _

_BN_

_ps. You will have you whumpy fix in the next chapter, I promise!_

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

In those times growing up when things become too much for him and his mind began to shut down, Daryl always ended up thinking back to the same thing every time; his mother. His subconscious would always try to draw upon his earliest memories of her. Back to when she's still had long, auburn hair that hung down to her slight shoulders, hiding the tattoo of a blooming rose. He could remember that she would wear those heavy, oversized jumpers even in the height of summer, to keep the bruises she sported away from prying eyes. He could still bring up, vividly, an image of her slender face with those large, almond-shaped eyes of brilliant blue that never really seemed to have any life in them, even back then. Her pale lips were always slightly downturned, even when she gave him one of those smiles that somehow made her look even sadder. When he was little he thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Daryl could remember snippets of early memories, enough to know that there was a time when she did love him. There was a time when, knowing full well the trouble she would get into if caught, she would let him sneak into her bed on the nights his father wouldn't come home, reading to him in comforting tones until he fell asleep. There was a time when both he and Merle were sick in the winter and she made them hot chocolate (the good stuff, as well) and decorated them with mini-marshmallows arranged in the shape of a smiley face. There was a time that, despite the bruises on her face and the worry in her eyes, she would still laugh when the tiny, blonde-haired Daryl blew a raspberry on her belly (which he did most says, if only to make sure he could hear one sound of happiness between the time he woke and went to sleep). Daryl can recall enough of his early life, back when Merle still found him too much of a nuisance to be around, to know that although he felt terror every day of his childhood he knew he had his mother to make it that little bit easier on him.

When he really lets his mind go, Daryl can remember one particular period in his childhood that he felt completely safe and happy.

It wasn't the longest stretch of time in the world but the two weeks he spent with his mother whilst his father was away when he was five were the happiest of his life. In fact, it was the only time he can remember truly feeling happy in his lifetime. His dad had walked out one day, screaming that he was leaving their worthless assess and they, Daryl and his Mom (he can't quite recall where Merle was this time, maybe just out causing trouble those weeks or off on one of his adventures) would have to fend for themselves.

It had been as though all his dreams, wishes and (present-less) Christmas' had come at once. He even remembered sending a prayer out one night and thanking God for finally listening to him. Maybe the big man upstairs hadn't forgotten about him after all.

He remembers huddling under a blanket on their tatty sofa watching the few videos they owned on their tiny aerial TV in the middle of the day, them both laughing along to some spaghetti western or slapstick comedy as the smell of the popcorn popping on the stove wafted through their lighter-than-usual house. He remembers skipping along the street during long walks through their little town where his mother, for the only time in his memory, was not too scared to say hello to the neighbours or smile at strangers they passed. He remembers them going into the local diner one evening, for the first time in his life, and him getting to order whatever he wanted, even getting some apple pie and ice cream for dessert. He remembered sitting curled up on his mother's bed as she held him and sung to him whilst stroking her long, delicate fingers through his shaggy hair. He remembers, with almost painful clarity, on that last night her saying sorry for everything that had happened before and promising that it would all be better now it was just them as he lay blissfully happily in her arms, his fingers interlocked with hers. He remembers her promising she would never let anyone hurt him. He remembers believing her words, with a feeling swelling in his heart he never got to feel long enough to know what to call it.

Nothing good ever lasted. He learnt that quick.

His father had come back to the house the next afternoon whilst they had been eating lunch at the kitchen table at the time. For some reason lunch being grilled cheese sandwiches that Daryl had helped his mother make, her letting him sit up on the side and lay out the slices of cheese on the row of bread, is a detail that never faded. The man had been drunk, maybe even more so than usual, and had immediately started laying into his mother with his fists, feet and words whilst Daryl cowered under the table. He'd heard her yelling at his father that she wasn't letting him do this to them anymore. It had set him off even more as then his old man had turned on him for the first time ever, dragging a squealing Daryl out from under the table by his skinny ankles. He remembers his mother screaming, pleading for the rage-fuelled man to leave him alone, that she was sorry and she wouldn't do it again. She kept saying it over and over again. But it hadn't stopped his daddy doling out a viscous beating, one the five-year-old's body could barely take. She had stopped screaming eventually and as Daryl's tiny, malnourished frame had been thrown to the floor for the last time, he can remember looking to her and seeing her face void of any life. It was as though the light had finally been turned off and the part of her that was reserved specially for him had died. Daryl had called out to her then, but she didn't even look at him. Eventually, she had stood and turned away from him, walking to her bedroom and shutting the door softly, leaving Daryl alone on the floor with the remnants of uneaten grilled cheese and false promises.

He never did make wishes, or dreams, or prayers after that. It just didn't seem worth it.

It had been the day his daddy first hit him, and it was the day she stopped caring about him, the day Daryl was sure his mother had just stopped loving him. It was the day she shut down her mind and sealed his fate, and the day he lost the only good thing he'd ever had.

He guess he never really blamed her.

He'd grown to hate that she'd ever loved him at all in the first place. It seemed to make it harder to know what he had lost.

As Gareth continued to deliver brutal hits onto Daryl's already-beaten body, the redneck's mind tried desperately to bring up an image of his mother during those happy two weeks. It grappled frantically to have something good to cling on to, instead of letting the pain it felt register or the fear and panic that was quickly building in his stomach boil over.

He could only manage to see the cold, dead eyes of the woman who replaced her as she turned away from him that day, and the feeling of complete and utter loss that had come with them.

Maybe the pain of the belt didn't seem so bad, after all.

* * *

_Thank you all so much who reviewed the last chapter. It was amazing to wake up this morning to find a number of reviews within a few hours of posting! I am so glad you guys are liking it. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Human nature never _really_ changes, even when the world ends.

There is that instinct in every person that made them turn to see the car wreck on the other side of the highway, the morbid fascination of re-watching terrible events over and over again on the news, or the way people find themselves flocking around an injured person on the ground that apparently doesn't lessen despite there being horror all around them nowadays. It seemed that becoming spectators of another's misfortune was something wired so intrinsically into the human brain that it was almost as second nature as breathing. It was this instinct that kept 15 pairs of eyes, belonging to both friends and foes, steadily transfixed on the belt being brought down on another man's bare back repeatedly. Even the sickeningly rhythmic slap...slap...slap.. of leather hitting flesh didn't make any of them turn away, leaving them staring in a perverse curiosity at the dreadfulness in front of them.

The people watching were even more incapable of looking away due to the fact that the man on the receiving end of the blows, despite having been already struck over 20 times on beaten skin, had yet to show any response that the brutal attack was anything more than an inconvenience. His eyes may have been shut in a tight scowl and his lips may have turned white as they were forced together into a straight line but no sounds of pain had yet to sneak past them. Daryl stayed high on his one knee, his chin jutting up in an undeniable show of defiance. He'd kept his back as straight as possible, although he could not help arching it every time the belt met its target, as if the slight movement would draw his skin far enough away to stave off the worst of the pain. It wasn't working.

Rick felt a rippling of conflicted pride in the man knelt before him as Gareth's face continued to contort in irritation at not yet getting the response he had expected from his prisoner. But there was something else there, a glint of determination, that sent icy flashes of dread through Rick's veins. Gareth's deceivingly strong arm came down one more time before letting go of the belt and letting it drop to the floor. Realising that this signified a break of some sorts, Daryl immediately sucked in a series of deep breaths, his chest rising and falling dramatically with each one. Rick hadn't realised until then that the hunter had been holding his breath. He assumed it was a means of tolerating a beating the man had learnt long ago as a child, the thought of that alone sending shivers down his back.

"How are you feeling now, Archer?" Gareth stood proudly behind him, and pushed down on Daryl's shoulders so the man's chest lowered to the ground. Gareth's eyes showed a smattering of glee when they roamed over his handiwork. Rick and the rest were able to take in the newly-formed welts appearing on the now-visible back of their friend. Despite the rage Rick felt at Gareth showing Daryl off like some sort of pride he was glad to see no skin had been broken. He hoped it would stay that way.

"I've had worse." Daryl's voice was muffled slightly by his bent over position, but somehow there was a degree of amusement littering his response. "You handle tha' belt like a 12-year-old lass."

Gareth's eyes widened momentarily, obviously shocked that the man in front of him was still able to try, and succeed, to get under his skin, and Rick's smattering of hope extinguished. Gareth lunged, grabbing Daryl's hair and bringing him back up to kneeling, this time both of them planted on the floor. He lent into Daryl's ears and spat his words.

"I do like a challenge."

Gareth bent low and scooped up the discarded belt, inspecting the item in his hands with an intense interest before smiling to himself. He arranged it differently in his hands this time, switching his hold so that he was gripping the leather material and letting the heavy buckle swing menacingly free. Daryl's face paled as soon as he realised the change, the metal ghosting momentarily into his vision, and his eyes quickly darted to find Rick's. Rick swallowed the lump that had taken root all of a sudden, he hated how childlike Daryl seemed with an expression full of a haunting mix of dread and rueful acceptance. Rick could see his friend wanted him to be able to help him out of this mess, but knew as well as he did there was nothing that could be done. His chest constricted with the regret that had formed around his heart.

Rick's eyes stayed locked onto Daryl's, not missing the bright flash of panic, as the belt was swung high before the silver clasp came crashing down, the blow landing across the shoulder blades. The hunter's body was instantly thrown forward with a force unlike before and he instinctively put his arms out to stop himself from falling onto his face.

Daryl's mouth was wide open as breath was drawn inward in a shuddering gasp, before the air was expelled shakily through trembling lips. After a fleeting moment to compose himself, determined not to let his tormentor see any weakness, Daryl quickly pushed himself up again with one thrust of his arms. His hands reached his thighs where they rested and he remained hunched for an instant, preparing himself for the pain of stretching out that last wound, before finally straightening up. His eyes fell back to Rick's, his chosen safety zone for now, with the unmistakable gleam of moisture from that last eye-watering hit masking Daryl's blue iris'. Rick was pretty sure Daryl would see matching moisture in his own eyes, although he did not have the pain to excuse it away.

Gareth smiled, white teeth gleaming. Rick was going to pull them out one-by-one if he ever had the chance.

It continued on like this for a while. Every time Gareth brought his arm down, Daryl struggled to remain vertical but somehow managed to recover. His eyes always found their way back to Rick's as he righted himself. But as strong as Daryl was trying to be, Rick could see that the man was starting to struggle with each blow. Bold streaks of blood had started to show as delicate skin broke with each strike. Rick noted the sweat beading under Daryl's long fringe and the way his arms trembled more each time he caught himself from falling forward. He had seen how on one particular hit the man had bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood. He had also seen the moment Daryl's shoulders would sag and his head had started to loll to the side in tiny moments where it all got too much, his unfocused eyes still searching him out, but showing nothing but pain and confusion when they did. He still made very little noise except for the odd hiss of discomfort when straightening up or grunt as his forearms hit the floor once again.

Rick was also amazed, as he was sure his comrades beside him were, at what they were witnessing. Since the man had climbed up a ravine with an arrow wound and somehow walked himself back to their camp that had always known Daryl was strong in a way that they could never really begin to comprehend, in a way that Rick himself knew he could never be, but he was simply stunned at how much the man was able to endure and still not give his tormentor any satisfaction.

Rick knew though, no matter how strong the man was, it was only a matter of time before Gareth succeeded in getting the reaction he wanted. There was only so much one man could take.

On one particular hit, he was proven right.

As Gareth brought down the belt the leather managed to snake around Daryl's side and the buckle hit a cluster of flesh blooming with purple bruises at the bottom of his ribs. Rick flinched as a pain-filled shout escaped from Daryl's lips and he fell forward, landing on one outstretched hand as the other clutched at his side, quiet whimpers accompanying each pained breath. This time Daryl made no move to straighten himself back up, but stayed in that position, breathing heavily as his sweaty hair covered his face.

"How pathetic!" Gareth laughed, the sound full of a mocking shrill that drew identical (which dirty looks from Glenn, Maggie and Michonne) as he walked up to Daryl's arm and kicked it away, causing the injured man to fall to the floor, landing on the side he was still clutching. Gareth laughed again as another yelp of pain came from Daryl and he curled in on the injured area, suddenly appearing impossibly small. "I bet your daddy would have given you a good beating for making a noise like _that._"

As Daryl had landed his back faced his own group, and for the first time they could see the full extent on the damage that had been inflicted. A thin sheen of blood coated parts of his back where breaks in the skin could be easily seen and there were places where the shape of a buckle was clearly evident. Rick vaguely registered Glenn starting to talk, he thinks he was trying to express how the fallen man didn't deserve this, and was thankful he could hear Maggie shush him. Rick knew she realised anything they tried to do right now would only make the situation worse, and most likely it would be Daryl that had to deal with any ramifications. Letting his eyes roam over the myriad of seeping wounds and raised welts littering the man's back, Rick was glad Maggie was helping make sure they limited any more damage to their friend.

"Up on your hands and knees." Gareth's voice barked, his head angled down directing the words at the man still curled in a loose foetal position. When he received no response he bent low and lifted Daryl's head using a fitful of hair. "NOW!"

With a grunt of response Daryl's hand lazily flew up and batted away the fingers laced in his hair. He shakily forced himself to make his way into the requested position, wobbling slightly as he planted he second knee on the floor. He blinked repeatedly, trying to focus eyes that were beginning to give up on him, and was grateful when the dusty floor started to come back into view.

"You think your daddy would be proud of you now, Archer? You think anyone is proud of you?" Gareth's voice boomed behind him with a lacing of malice that instantly reminded him of his father on the nights he was in the mood to cause pain just for the hell of it, be it physical or mental. It made him freeze, a shiver coursing down his spine as he begged his mind to remember the lessons Rick and the others had taught him over the last two years about his own worth. God, this man reminded him so much of his father.

"Has anyone ever felt _anything_ about you? Anything except indifference. I don't even know if you're worth feeling anything for, do you? Not even shame. Or disappointment. You're not even worth that, are you Archer?"

Without any warning Daryl felt the belt rake down his exposed back once again, an explosion of heat erupting as it hit directly on top of a previous wound, and he had to put all his quickly-waning effort to stop from calling out again.

"These people here? I bet they don't even care for you. They all seem more than happy to see you take a bit of a beating. Hell, you weren't even good enough to sacrifice. You're worthless, aren't you Archer? Your little group really don't care about you at all."

Something inside of Rick broke as he saw Daryl's head lift up, searching their faces as if he needed confirmation that it wasn't true. The sheriff knew it was more habit than anything for the man to believe negative words, realising they were probably to only sort of words he had heard from when he was a young boy. The thought occurred to him that this group were possible the cause of the first good words the hunter had ever heard about himself. Rick caught Daryl's roaming gaze and nodded at him, knowing the man would understand its meaning but also noticing from Daryl's muted nod in return that through his clouded mind he was beginning to forget he believed it.

"I wonder why you're still alive? I'm sure there have better people, people your group has lost, that deserved to live much more than you did."

Daryl stopped breathing, his heart feeling like it had leapt to his mouth as he finally lost the battle with his demons at that taunt. He allowed the words to sink into his pores, to become a part of him just like his father's, and Merle's, had done in the past. There was something unsettlingly comfortable at being back in the position he'd spent his life in, a place he understood all too well.

As Gareth spoke his next words, he punctuated each one with a lash of the belt onto Daryl's back, aiming for the same spot each time as before having seen the hunter's arms begin to shake as metal had hit the open wound. Daryl bit his lips, still determined to keep silent, but suddenly welcoming the pain a little as his mind threw images of those people that really had deserved to still be here. People he had always felt guilty about outliving.

"Worthless."

White skin raised, surrounded by red of bruise and blood. _Jim. Jacqui. Amy_

"Useless."

Battered skin split and fresh blood rose to the surface. _Lori. T-Dog. Andrea_

"Waste of space."

Metal caught on torn skin, ripping flesh away. _Hershel. Carol. Beth. _

"Weak."

Blood dripping onto the floor underneath his torso. _Merle. __**Merle.**_

"Failure."

More hits, more blood beading from the wounds and more skin coming away attached to the buckle._** Sophia**_

Gareth didn't let up on his attack, now that he realised the man below him wasn't coping well. The abuser became acutely aware that his victim's finger nails were digging hard into the dirt beneath him, scraping them along the dusty rock hard enough to draw blood from underneath. He continued to bring the belt down with all his might. He could see Daryl's neck and shoulders were filled with pulsing veins as he desperately struggled to keep any show of pain hidden, the exertion clearly evident in the painfully tensed muscles in his upper body. Like a cat toying with a mouse, Gareth was buoyed by the sight of the man near breaking point and intensified the hits, smiling maniacally as he saw the man's arms begin to shake even more, sweat rolling down the hunter's face and arms as he fought the losing battle to cling to any control.

Rick watched as the buckle became noticeably bloodier each time it was drawn backwards. Spatters of red started to litter Gareth's shirt as Daryl's blood would fly off as he whipped his arm back and forth. Eventually, quiet grunts and whimpers started to accompany each hit and before long they morphed into half-screams that Daryl fought to catch before they left his mouth, only succeeding in making the noises sound rawer and more pain-filled. Rick grimaced as Daryl's voice hitched into a hysteria he hadn't heard since they had found Merle's hand on that roof back in Atlanta.

And suddenly, like once the dam of pain had been opened there was no way of stopping it, all composure from the hunter was lost. As the metal rebounded off open skin once more Daryl suddenly let out a scream of pure agony that seemed so much louder than any sound Rick had ever heard before. Each following hit was met with the same heart-breaking sound, each one nestling into the hearts of the man's watching friends. Every single one of them silently begged not to have the hear the terrible noise again.

Gareth stopped abruptly, leaving Daryl trembling, and drew his arm over his forehead, wiping off the sweat that the effort of the beating had created. His own breaths were coming out in deep huffs as he placed his hands on his hips to take a moment to regain a normal breathing pattern, suddenly looking very pleased with himself. His pride at this accomplisment only doubled once he noticed a detail he hadn't when so engrossed in aiming for the maximum amount of damage.

During the tirade of abuse, Rick had started talking to Daryl without even noticing. Forgetting about the repercussions, Rick had wanted to do anything to help as he saw his friend breaking in front of him. Trying desperately to get the man to look at him, Rick had tried giving him soft words of comfort. Anything to help him through this. Even now the beating was finished, he was speaking in hushed tones repeating phrases to try and get make sure his friend knew he wasn't alone.

"Look at me, brother, look at me. Forget the rest, just look at me. I'm here, I'm right here, brother."

Rick had been trying to make sure Daryl knew this wasn't like all those years after his brother in blood had all-but abandoned him, that Rick was right there with him. Only, it hadn't worked as Daryl's eyes never found their way to his own this time.

Lost in his task of reaching out to Daryl's pain-muddled mind, Rick hadn't realised that Gareth had turned his attention onto him and was shocked when he was grabbed by two of the henchmen. Four sets of fingers dug roughly into his upper arms as he was pulled towards Daryl, half-struggling to get away from their grip and half-allowing himself to be carried closer. The two men brought him to stand beside Gareth as the man continued to admire his handiwork. Rick had to stop himself from gagging as he reluctantly followed his eyeline and looked down upon Daryl. His stomach churned as he tried to see any un-marked skin underneath the gore that covered his back, feeling sickened by the sight of peaks of torn skin stuck up, surrounded by pulped flesh mottled in different shades of red.

"Choose now and this all stops." Gareth's voice barely registered in Rick's mind for a moment, but when the words pushed their was into his conscious he shuddered at how simple it seemed. How easy it would be to save Daryl anymore violence. His eyes flicked up to the rest of his group, landing on his son's bowed head.

"No."

"I am running out of patience now." Gareth's words dripped with the irritation the man was no longer able or willing to hide and Rick was once again taken by surprise by hands gripping around his arm. Before he could react more fingers snaked behind his neck and he was thrust down hard onto his knees and pushed forward towards his friend's desecrated back.

"Look at what YOU are doing, Ringleader. This is all because of you."

Rick's instincts kicked in at that and he fought hard to pull back from the bloody skin just beneath, but Gareth's grip was strong. He was shoved roughly forward, his face pressed into Daryl's back. A pained hiss came from the hunter as Rick's cheek hit warm, slick skin. His nostril filled with familiar smells of sickly metallic blood mixed with sweat and he sucked in a breath to stave off the bile rising from his stomach. Gareth moved his hand in a way that made Rick's face involuntarily move across the expanse of Daryl's back, moving through the ruined flesh, causing Rick to clench his lips closed tightly to stop any of his friend's blood from making its way into his mouth. He was sure he could feel flaps of broken skin separate underneath his own skin. He wanted to vomit.

"Your pathetic little friend here was screaming just then, did you hear? You let that happen. I can't believe I thought you cared about him."

Rick gritted his teeth underneath his pursed lips as he felt Gareth push his face harder into the back beneath him, the heat from another man's blood making its way into the crevasses of his face. The deputy sheriff heard Gareth's high-pitched laugh mingle with the sound of Daryl's frail whimper and his outrage at the situation flared enough to make him speak without thinking.

"He's anything but pathetic. You'll never be able to break him. You'll never break any of us. You're messing with the wrong people."

He realised almost as soon as the words tumbled from his mouth that yet another act of defiance, which Rick can only assume those at Terminus are not used to, hit on something that makes Gareth lose the grip on whatever semblance of control the man had on his growing anger. In an instant Gareth had dropped his grip from Rick's neck, pushing the man to floor beside Daryl. In a blur of movement the belt was back in Gareth's hand, buckle still on the attack, and he continued to use it to brutally lash the man who simply didn't have the energy to scream out anymore.

Even when Daryl could no longer keep himself up on hand and knees and had slumped to the floor, coming to a rest on his side, Gareth did not let up, bringing down the weapon with a renewed force. Rick knew if they somehow made it out of this, it was exactly the moment his nightmares would be made of. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the horrible sound of his best friend being torn apart.


	9. Chapter 9

_Diclaimer: Still not mine, and shockingly not had a call from Mr Gimple to join his writing staff yet. ;) _

_(Sorry for the delay on this one - life is a whirlwind at the moment.)_

_As always, I hope you enjoy.. just don't hate me._

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

At some point Gareth had abandoned the belt. Maybe it was because he couldn't see the benefit of using it when there was no more skin to ruin, or maybe because the effort of continuing the exaggerated movement was just too much for his arm to maintain. The pulpy gore of Daryl's back was left relatively alone as the Terminus leader dropped the blood-covered material to the ground and beckoned two of his men forward. He instructed them clearly to use their fists and feet to continue the man's torture but to aim for only the face and limbs. Rick was grateful, in a warped way only survivors of the end of the world could understand, the beating Daryl began to receive was tame in comparison to what he had endured over the last couple of days. There was no real force behind the blows, the henchmen showing reluctance to inflict too much damage on a body that had obviously been abused so much in a short space of time.

It didn't stop Rick from wincing when he registered the distinct sound of a pop as a fist met Daryl's nose. He hated himself a little more when he was slightly disappointed to see the hunter hadn't been knocked out by that blow. It wasn't the first time he had found himself wishing the ignorance of unconsciousness would save Daryl from more pain.

Instead of joining in, Gareth stood to the side with his arms crossed, paying no attention to the action of his men but staring resolutely ahead at Rick, a look of contemplation playing along his features. He studied Rick's face as the man watched his friend's plight and saw the concern written clearly all over it. Gareth's lips curled into a smirk before his forehead knitted into a tight frown. His frustration bubbled so close to the surface that his skin began to itch; he simply couldn't understand why the leader of this group would be willing to watch the torturous demise of someone he cared so openly about. He was losing his patience, and quickly.

With a slight upward flick of his head, Gareth relayed the silent message to his men to stop their assault. Daryl was quickly hauled to his unsteady feet, a smeared line of blood now forming from his broken nose to his mouth. It was only the grip of the men either side of him that was keeping him standing, their hands imprinting on his bare flesh. Rick could see from his vantage point behind the hunter that his legs were shaking and one of his knees kept giving away momentarily, causing the man to involuntarily lean heavily to the man on this left, whilst still mumbling indignantly that he 'didn't need no help from a coupla' pussy thugs'.

Gareth moved forward, placing himself just in front and to the side of Daryl, so that he blocked one of his men from the spectator's view. Rick's eyes widened as Gareth's hand moved down to that knife that had been sheathed on his belt after using it to threaten Carl. With deft movement Gareth used his thumb to unclasp the strap around the handle and pull the blade free, bring it to rest ominously just above tattooed skin of Daryl's chest. His muscles rippled instinctively at the coolness of the metal and yet another unwanted touch to his skin.

"Choose." Even if the knife had not been pressed against Daryl, the word held a blatant threat in its delivery, the single syllable coming out as if it tasted foul in the speaker's mouth.

Rick's response came out with equal measures of disgust, the man angry at being forced to say the word again and the inevitable harm that would befall his closest comrade. "No."

Gareth's arm moved silently across the hunter's torso, drawing the knife from left to right along strong chest muscles, the tip disappearing into skin. The metal blade sunk further into flesh as it continued and elicited a sharp intake of breath from its victim. It wasn't a deep cut, at least not by Daryl's standards, but individual pockets of blood instantly bloomed on the pale surface.

"Choose." Gareth moved the knife away from skin and let it come back to rest just below the first cut.

Rick's nose wrinkled in a snarl.

"No."

Daryl's breathing hitched as the blade moved through more virgin flesh. This time it didn't stop as Gareth continued to move it while asking the familiar request.

"Choose." Gareth manoeuvred his wrist so the blade turned to face downward, moving the weapon in a still-continuous line but now making it snake towards Daryl's stomach. Daryl's groan as the tip hit the flesh of his delicate ribs echoed in Rick's already constricted chest and settled into the pit of his stomach.

His perverse enjoyment at the sound of a man in pain caused Gareth to bite into his lower lip to stop a jovial smile overtaking his face and he raised his eyebrows at Rick in a challenge. When the knife came back to flesh it landed directly back onto the sensitive ribs, pressure pushing the blade a little deeper this time, causing another strangled groan to rise out from Daryl's raw throat.

"Please..." Gareth pulled the blade away at Rick's whispered plea, letting his eyes consider the man for the moment. Then, the blade was raised higher, clenched in a fisted grip level with Gareth's shoulder.

"CHOOSE!" The raised voice startled the watching crowd as Gareth's weapon-loaded hand shook with anger.

"NO!" Rick startled himself with his own vociferous response, regretting it almost as instantly as Gareth reacted.

Without hesitation, the blade cut through the air on its path to its target, creating an audible _whoosh_. It was quickly drowned out by an anguished shout as the knife dug deep into Daryl's right shoulder, only stopping when the hilt hit skin. Daryl instantly dropped to his knees, the tight grips on his arms being released with the sudden movement. His legs had given out the moment white hot pain of nerves, muscles and tendons being sliced had engulfed him, the feeling of his limb being ripped away overwhelming.

The watching group felt powerless as Daryl had dropped, his breaths coming out as quick and strained pants through painfully gritted teeth. His left hand had come up and shaking fingers hovered over the embedded knife, not daring to touch it and flare up the already intense pain. His hand stayed there, hesitantly floating, as muted groans of pain accompanied each struggle for breath.

"You think we can't break you, Ringleader? I'm pretty sure you thought we couldn't break him," Gareth pointed harshly at Daryl as he lent his face into Rick's line of sight. Sneering. Gloating. "Listen to him. We've had children make less fuss than that. It's pitiful. Absolutely pathetic."

"You're so weak, aren't you, Archer?" Gareth turned his head so his mouth was inches some Daryl's ears. Each of his words seemed to buoy him further, as the man still-panting before him was demonstrating what a good job he had done on. He was barely able to contain himself, the scream of pain having elated him in a disturbing way, bouncing from foot to foot as he spoke, unable to keep the sing-song happiness out of his voice despite the terrible words.

"You're a weak, pathetic waste. Aren't you? You're an unloved, unwanted piece of shit and you _know_ it. I bet you've always known it. Always know you're not even worth the dirt I bet caked the floor in your squalid little childhood home."

Daryl nodded slowly. The defiance he had always clung to so grudgingly fleetingly leaving him, his pain-addled mind only able to focus on the pain he could feel everywhere. _Everywhere._

"That's right." Gareth bent down lower, a smug smile playing on his lips and oozing through his voice. "What Ringleader here doesn't seem to understand is that I don't have to work very hard at all to break you, do I? It was **so** obvious as soon as I laid my eyes on you. You really don't have to work very hard to break a broken man, do you?"

Gareth stood quickly, puzzled, as he heard a snort of laughter mixed with the panting breath beneath. He was taken aback, and unable to hide his surprise, as Daryl planted the hand of his uninjured arm on the floor and heavily swung his opposite leg in front of him, his foot stamping on the ground. With huge effort, and a grunt of agony, Daryl rocked his weight forward and pushed up with all his remaining strength. He stumbled forward but managed to get his second foot solidly on the ground just in time to catch himself, and then painfully slowly drag himself up to standing. Straightening his shoulders with a grimace, legs shaking even more evidently now, Daryl made himself as tall as possible, taking two stumbling steps towards Gareth.

"You ain't got _nothing_ else?" Daryl's voice was barely above a whisper and with no trace of its usual threat. Despite being awed by the man's overwhelming determination, the words coming from Daryl's mouth were no longer convincing anyone as the man shook with the effort of staying upright. "I've had worse."

For the first time that he can remember, Rick didn't believe that was true. He watched as the injured man swayed heavily on his feet, one arm hugging protectively around his battered torso, the other cradling around the knife still encased in his shoulder.

"Oh, do give it a rest, Archer. You think I care?" Gareth reached forward, grabbing the handle of the knife with one hand, the other gripping the hunter's shoulder, and yanked back. With a pained exhale of air through a closed mouth, Daryl dropped down once again, weak legs buckling completely this time as he found himself sat on the floor, knees apart and feet bent back to settle next to his seat on the floor. "This wasn't about you, like I said, you're already broken. You're not worth the effort. This was all about _him."_

Daryl was ignored again, Gareth dismissing him with a wave of his hand, as Rick was suddenly brought back to the centre of attention. Still, the bearded man did not move from his place on his knees, instead fixing a glare onto the man before him.

"You're just like me, Ringleader."

"I am noth.." Rick was cut off quickly, Gareth's frustration at the day's events coming to a head as he ranted, his words coming out quickly. Rick could only listen as he say his own dalliance with insanity after he had lost Lori play out before him in a man that had not brought back from the edge in time.

"Save it. You know I'm right. We're the same kind of people. You know how hard it is to lead people in this kind of world. I can see it. I can see it in your eyes. You've made the hard decisions, you've taken drastic actions. Hell, I bet you've had to end lives just like me to keep your people safe. I know how hard it is to have it all on you when things go wrong. It all being your fault. The loss of humanity, the loss of our morals, the loss of life. All on you. You don't get to lead in this shitstorm of a world without having to give all that up. All for _them_."

His arms gestured widely to no one in particular as Gareth continued, the bloody knife in his hand splattering red drops with each dramatic movement. Words came freely and he occasionally turned to Rick and pointed forcefully into his chest to exaggerate his points.

"What I don't think you do know, is what it feels like to have to make the choice I had to. To be presented with a dilemma where you are forced to send half your people, good people, women and children, to their deaths to save the rest. Last winter, I had to make that choice. All those names in that room you ran through, all those candles, every one of them had to die for the rest of us. I didn't want to make that choice, but they all looked to me. They all asked me to make the choice to keep as many of us alive as possible. I had to sacrifice our weak to keep the strong alive. I had to make that choice. I was made to. Just to keep those with a chance of making it through this . It was survival of the fittest at its simplest. It was a necessity. I won't lie, it's the kind of choice you don't come back from, my friend. It is the kind of choice that breaks you in a way you just cannot put back together. I wonder if you know that feeling yet?"

Rick's eyes found their way to Carl, still on the ground where he had been left, and his hand absentmindedly came to pull at the wisps of his beard that was only yesterday caked in another man's blood.

"I'm not making that choice." Rick's teeth grated against each other as he forced out the words, trying to ignore the feeling that he was about to reach the point of no return whether he made the choice or not.

Temper flaring again, and patience finally deserting him, Gareth stormed to Daryl, the knife pointing at the hunter. "This is it now. You choose now, or he dies. And then we start this all with someone else."

"Kill me. I told you, I am not choosing any of my people. I am not choosing _anyone._ Kill me. Kill me!" Panic flared in Rick's chest at the way the man walked with such dangerous intent, a plan of action obviously decided in his mind.

"This is your last chance."

Rick could only hear his own heartbeat, pounding loudly all around him. He looked before him as each one of his group had their eyes on him, full of expectation, hoping to hear something that would magically save their friend, that would save them all. He had pulled it off so many times before, miraculous escapes, that it almost killed him to see their trust in him so blatantly across their faces. He felt sick as he realised the next word out his mouth would likely shatter that trust, and their hope that they would make it out of here alive.

"No."

Gareth exhaled loudly, it's exaggeration would have been almost comedic had the context not have been so horrific. He shook his head sadly as Rick, tutting while he did so, before breathing out one word. A word that suddenly held the weight of a group's resignation of their fate.

"Fine."

Gareth grabbed onto Daryl's arm, holding it above the hunter's head, a grin of success plastered on his face. Daryl had let out a gasped moan as his side had been stretched but he made no attempt to fight the man off, instead allowing his head to bob lazily, letting his eyes roam the floor below him. It terrified Rick to see no fight left in Daryl. Gareth brought the blade up and caressed the cool metal on the delicate skin that covered the inside of Daryl's wrists, causing a small shiver from the man. Daryl wasn't aware of the look of horror on Rick's face as the hunter looked to the sky, sending out a silent prayer to a God that he didn't believe in that it would all be over soon.

"No, don't do this. Please. Don't do this." Rick's voice pitched in a desperation he wasn't able to keep from his voice.

Gareth's eyes locked onto Rick's and in that moment all colour drained from the world around the kneeling leader. The bright sunshine around Rick suddenly dulled, a greying filter sliding into place as realisation hit. He wanted to scream and yell and fight as soon as he saw the blade bite deeply, _so deeply, _into soft flesh. In one swift movement Gareth was able to slit the inside of Daryl's arm, lengthways from wrist to elbow, skin flaying outwards and a rush of blood instantly gushing from the wound.

"Daryl." Rick heard the primal scream of the familiar name. He hadn't realised it had come from him until his throat began to burn. "Daryl!"

"If you'd have just chosen, then one of _your_ people could have had a quick, pain-free death." Gareth still held onto Daryl's now-limp wrist, copious amounts of blood dripping from both the man's filleted limb and the soaked knife. "We aren't monsters here. Now Archer has to bleed to death on the floor like a farmyard animal. After all he's been through, he's now got a slow, painful death too. Too bad that, hey Ringleader? That's all on you."

Rick saw Daryl's head had begun to loll immediately, eyes blinking furiously to stave off the rush of light-headedness that assaulted him. Rick's world continued to haze as a pool of red liquid began to accumulate at Daryl's knees, soaking the ripped fabric of his dark jeans quickly. He could only watch, as if it was happening in slow motion, as Gareth swapped to Daryl's other arm, dropping the one now slick with blood, and holding it in the same way he had the first.

"Let this be a lesson to you. Maybe next time when I ask you to choose, you'll choose quickly and not make this so much worse on your people."

The knife cut into the skin as it had before, the blade seeming to slip deep into the flesh with ridiculous ease, Daryl letting out nothing but a whispered gasp. Rick felt the meals he hadn't eaten attempt to rise up, the hot, burning acid burning the back of his throat and making his eyes water and his nose sting as a terrifying amount of blood quickly left the Daryl's body.

"...And now we wait for him to die."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Thank you all for the reviews again, including those anon reviews that I haven't been able to thank via PM. I have loved getting your feedback.**_

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**Chapter Ten**

As soon as Gareth had dropped Daryl's second bloody arm from his grip, Rick tried to move forward. His hands and feet scrambled to find purchase on the sandy earth beneath him as he attempted to propel himself to Daryl's side. The sudden urgency to get to his friend seized Rick's heart, his movements panic-induced and uncoordinated, only allowing him to close distance a little before Gareth planted himself firmly in his way and he dropped to his stomach. From that position one of Rick's arm instinctively reached through the standing man's legs, fingers stretching desperately to cut down the space between them and the bleeding man. Pain spiked through Rick's still-healing wrist when a foot came crashing down on top of his hand, making him instantly draw it back to his chest as Gareth stepped away, satisfied he had stopped the man's advancing body.

Glancing up Rick found himself now only two yards away from Daryl, close enough to see the uncontrollable tremble that shook the man's beaten body and the rapid rate that his sliced chest rose marginally with ineffective breaths. Rick knew from seeing enough crime scenes over his career with the Sheriff's department that once blood had left the body and spilt on the floor it was deceptive, sometimes relatively harmless amounts seeming impossibly large, but Rick couldn't help but this there was no way this was the case with the puddle at Daryl's knees, the edges growing outward slowly with each drip from ruined flesh. He wondered how long it would take Daryl to lose enough blood to fall unconsciousness, and with a prang of guilt found himself wishing it would just come quickly for his friend whose groggy eyes were flailing in confusion and pain, never settling on one thing long enough to focus. Rick could see Daryl fighting against gravity, desperate to keep himself upright and not give in to the overwhelming tiredness that just _had_ to be closing in on him.

Rick barely registered a barking cough of laughter from above when he felt a sudden gust of air send dirt into his eyes as Daryl's legs finally gave up their last bit of strength and he came crashing to the ground from his knees. Rick winced as Daryl's right cheek collided heavily with the floor first, the hunter not even having the energy to put his arms out to soften the landing. As the air settled, tiny puffs of dust continued to rise with every one of Daryl's quick, shallow breaths. His face remained pressed heavily into the ground for a few moments until Gareth buried one foot underneath Daryl's hip and with one quick movement upwards rolled the hunter onto his back. He made no noise.

Daryl's vision struggled to focus when his view was flipped, it taking it a moment longer than he was comfortable with for his mind to catch up to what had just happened. He stared straight up into the cloudless blue sky, squinting as the sun beat down on him. From the look of the Sun's position he reckoned they had only been out of their train car prison for around two hours, but,_ Jesus_, it felt like so much longer to him. It had probably only been a couple of minutes since he'd felt the blade slice through his wrists, but even that had felt like a lifetime. He wondered how long it would take for him to fall into oblivion. Not just unconsciousness, but true oblivion, where the darkness was so deep than nothing would ever reach him again. He didn't think it would be long. Despite white hot pain that pulsated everywhere on his body, _everywhere,_ the cold had already started to creep over him, enveloping him in a strange calmness that was so at odds with the thoughts of mortality sporadically racing through his head. He never thought he would be scared of dying again, not after he had become so accustomed to the thought as a boy, but he couldn't deny the fear bubbling away in the pit of his stomach.

_He hopes he gives them all food poisoning. With any luck it will kill them. _

Was he really dying? He was pretty sure he was, almost certain in fact, but it wouldn't be the first time his mind had been so clouded in agony or panic that it had thought that. Through the years there had been plenty of times where, during or after one of his father's rages, he had found himself laying on their dirty floor fighting the urge of allowing himself to pass out, utterly terrified that he wouldn't be able to open his eyes ever again. He remembered one time, when he'd been caught trying to steal one of his father's cigarettes, that the man had repeatedly held his head under water, only allowing him up for the time it took to bring in half a breath. His lungs had screamed as they had slowly filled with water, the breath in his small lungs quickly running out. As the water surrounding him had begun to blur around the edges, black spots floating all around his vision, he had accepted that the blind panic he felt then was the last thing he would ever feel and that when he shut his eyes it would finally be the end of his pathetic existence. He'd woken up spluttering on the floor of the bathroom, his clothes and hair still sodden, and a bruise the size of a man's handprint forming between his shoulder blades.

This time it felt different.

_God, he was so tired._

Daryl's heavy eyelids closed and he took a few deep breaths to calm his panicking mind. Pulses of agony radiated to so many places on his body that he couldn't even tell you where he hurt anymore. Finally, his brain started firing off pictures he had been waiting for, the rare flashes of good he had encountered in his life. Smiles, laughter, bright flashes of eyes full of life, comfortable silences and a feeling of safety; they all flickered through his head like the films he had watched with his mother. But, it was only when faces started mixing themselves in-between the snippets of memories, and the details came into focus, that Daryl realised it wasn't the same show-reel his mind had shown him all those times before, when it was his father it was protecting him against. No, these faces belonged to his new family, the one lined up like prisoners of war on one side of him.

Daryl couldn't help the small smile working its way to his lips as a momentary warmth flooded his quickly-cooling limbs. His mind continued to swim in memories of his friends, and he laughed a little despite himself, only a rasping exhale of gas audible to the others. He really must be the only person to have more to lose now the world had ended.

With a wave of regret and a sideways glance at them all, he wished he could have done more to save his acquired family. It panicked him more than he would ever care to admit, more than anything had before, that after he died that psycho would turn on another of his family. He'd tried to take as much as he could from the man, hoping that Rick would have time to find a way out, but it hadn't happened. Not that he blamed Rick, he would never do that, but he'd just wanted to do his part and give them a chance. Still, Daryl had to try and hold onto the comfort that the time Gareth spent of him was time he hadn't spent focussing on the rest of his family. That will have to do, he guessed. He was sure, as sure as anything, that Rick would still manage to work something out and get the rest of them out of this. Hell, Daryl would never bet against that man when it came to protecting that group. He'd never bet against him, full stop. Despite his mistakes, Rick had shown Daryl countless times he was worthy of following to the end.

Maybe, even dying, even dead, Daryl could still buy them some more time. He just needed to make Rick understand.

He just wanted it to be over now.

"You could have made this so much easier, Ringleader. Now look at him, suffering. It's quite pathetic really. "

Rick balked at Gareth's taunting words floating above him.

At the mention of the word pathetic Rick saw the last of Daryl's fight flare in his eyes, a resolve and a resilience shining, one that didn't have a right to be there, not after everything that just happened. He saw Daryl glance over at Carl, at Michonne, at Glenn and Maggie. He saw each of them draw back their own sadness upon looking at the same look he had seen, each of them feeding on the man's unbelievable strength. They reacted in their own way; Jaws clenching, hands balling into fists muscles tensing. Each of them realising that if the man could stay strong after enduring so much, then so could they. Rick smiled, despite himself. Daryl always had that knack of rallying the troops when it seems like they were down and out. When the going had got tough, which it had at times, everyone instinctively seemed to take his lead and draw from his unrelenting courage, his ability to get a job done without a complaint no matter how dirty it made his hands. It was why they had gotten out of so many close calls intact, especially that winter on the move after the farm. It was where Daryl cemented himself as an invaluable piece of their puzzle. It was why every single one of their core group owed their life to the hunter a number of times over. It was why he had made the best lieutenant to Rick's leadership. In his own way, Daryl had kept them all together even when Rick couldn't.

But then Rick saw it.

He saw the moment Daryl had nothing left to give.

As Daryl finally pulled his head to the side, away from the other's prying eyes, Rick saw a weakness he would have never believed could be there had he not witnessed it himself. With both of them on the same level, no more than a metre away from each other's faces, Rick could not deny the hopelessness that played so openly in his friend's icy blue eyes. Everything that Rick had ever known of Daryl was shattering. His strength, his fight, his goddamn stubbornness. It was all draining from him almost as quickly as the blood seeping into the ground beneath him in an ever-increasing puddle. Rick's world tilted as he finally accepted the awful truth; Daryl was dying in front of him and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

He'd failed him. After all the times Daryl had saved him and his family, all those times the man had put their life of them before his own, and Rick couldn't repay the favour.

Daryl was _dying. _ He was in pain. Rick knew the man was vulnerable beyond comprehension for someone so strong and that is not how he felt comfortable being.

Daryl's eyes locked onto Ricks one last time, the blue that had burnt so brightly in the past now dull, as if the lights behind the eyes were slowly dimming as the brain shut down. Rick could read Daryl like a book, having had to learn how to communicate with a man who only used words when absolutely necessary without them. They had both become so used to one another that they barely even needed to look at each other and they knew what the other was thinking or asking. Right now, Rick knew what Daryl was asking of him. He knew that the man had accepted his death already, had probably accepted it the moment he was singled out from the group in the train car, but Rick also understood that the man wanted him to bestow one last duty and protect his family. He knew Daryl wanted the only strip of dignity and control over his own demise that was possible now.

He nodded his head slowly, and saw the moment Daryl's tensed body relaxed a little with a sigh.

Rick swallowed, his mouth suddenly sandpaper dry.

"Kill him."

A hush fell as the words left his mouth. A silence that was loud to Rick that it made him wince.

"Kill him. Put a bullet in his brain. Now. Kill him now."

Gareth's head tilted in curiosity as he started to understand what was being said, his eyes lighting in something akin of victory.

"And why is that?"

Not taking his eyes from Daryl, Rick forced the words out of his reluctant mouth. "I choose him."

"Ri..." He was pretty sure that was Glenn trying to stop the events unfolding in front of him, but he reacted quickly to cut him off, having to get this finished before he changed his mind. Before he went back on his silent promise to his brother.

"Kill him. I choose him. You can...you can... have him."

Gareth's eyes flick from Rick to Daryl, seeing a faraway look full of unabridged pain and all-encompassing shame in both sets of eyes. The familiar smile of a man with an arguable hold on his sanity played over his lips. "We can _have_ him? I don't quite understand."

Rick glared at the man towering above them, suddenly hesitant now to put the final nail in Daryl's figurative coffin. Not that the man would ever be given the dignity of being allowed to rest in one of those now, not even a makeshift one like the others they had lost.

"You can..."

"Dad!"

Carl's sudden shout of confused desperation caused Rick's heart to leap into his throat, constricting his already failing airway.

"Say it!" Gareth's voice boomed into the stagnant summer air.

"I choose him as our sacrifice. I should have chose him all along." The words rushed themselves past lips, Rick instantly wishing he could take them back. An overwhelming weight of grief and guilt settled themselves heavily on Rick's battle-worn shoulders with a sureness that he was sure he would never fully be able to shake off.

It didn't matter that Rick saw the last remaining tension leave Daryl's body, his face relaxing into an almost peaceful expression, the hunter's normally serious eyes losing their intensity. All that mattered was the Rick has doomed him. He had from the second he showed Daryl to be one of his weaknesses.

"Oh, goody. I have worked up quite the appetite!" Gareth crowed as he walked to one of his henchman and held his hand out. After a small amount of fumbling the stocky man placed a distinctive revolver in Gareth's waiting palm. As the Terminus leader inspected the chambers to be sure it was loaded, anger welled up in Rick and his fingernails ails dug painfully into the ground.

It was _his_ silver Colt Python.

He wanted to scream and rant at whoever it was in the universe that obviously hated him _so fucking_ much.

As Gareth continued his brief inspection, Rick didn't miss how Daryl's eyes flicked over his shoulder, and how he frowned before a ghost of a smile played on his lips. He saw how Daryl closed his eyes and shook his head as if to clear it, and then look purposefully back to the same place, eyes misting with something Rick couldn't explain. Puzzled, Rick glanced back over his own shoulder and saw nothing but the building behind him. It made him wonder what, or maybe who, the man could see through his dying brain. Maybe it was Merle, although Rick hoped not. He'd hope Daryl would have something more as a welcoming party to death. Maybe others that they had lost were there as well. Maybe Lori was there. Maybe Hershel. Maybe they had Judith too. Rick hoped so, his heart aching at the thought.

Gareth finally took the steps forward and pointed Rick's gun at Daryl. Rick vaguely noticed Maggie turning her face away, Glenn putting a comforting hand on her hair as the young man fixed his gaze on Daryl's broken body. He saw, with a pang of worry, Carl's face shut down like it had done far too often the past two years, a cold mask of a child of these horrific times slipping into place. He also saw Michonne's eyes drop to the dust under her knees, hands settling calming in her lap as she breathed deeply. Rick's eyes roamed back to Daryl's face and he saw the man breathe even deeper and let out a sigh as if all the troubles of the world had just been fixed. With his eyes closed and his face relaxed like that the man looked almost_...serene_. Rick was even sure there was a hint of a smile.

Gareth reached the pool of blood that surrounded Daryl now, the one that had now reached Rick's fingertips. Using his foot to draw a circle in the liquid Gareth laughed. It was a bitterly awful sound.

"I guess we can call him a kosher meal."

The gun was raised and aimed for the dying man's head. The safety was switched off and the hammer cocked with an ominous 'click'.

Rick took one final look at Daryl, trying to imprint the unusual and normally unseen look of peace on his friend's face, before he closed his own eyes, shielding them from the moment of unfair, unnecessary and irreversible tragedy that was about to happen.

A flock of crows shot up into the sky from a nearby tree as a gunshot rang out.

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_**Author Note: I know this chapter hasn't moved the story alone much - but gosh darn it if I don't want to draw out the agony for you all. :)**_


	11. Chapter 11

_Thank you all again for the reviews, I love getting them! Sorry it took over a week for this update. __But I do not apologise one bit for leaving you hanging for a little while - your reactions was what makes this so much fun. :-)_

_Enjoy. BN_

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**Chapter Eleven**

The last of the crows had disappeared across the horizon, following the echo of the single gunshot, before Rick dared to open his eyes again. Dread had climbed from the pit of his stomach and slowly curled its way into his throat, stopping him from taking a breath. He braced himself for the sight that would undoubtedly meet him; the still and bloody remains of his murdered best friend, the unseeing blue eyes that would bore into his own and burn themselves into his memory.

Rick blinked repeatedly, clearing the blur moisture he hadn't realised had started leaking had created. He still felt unable to take in a breath when he realised that his eyes were not met with the scene he expected at all.

His colt lay discarded, unused on the floor.

Gareth's body was sprawled motionless next to it.

A red circle bloomed in the middle of his pale forehead.

A crater in the centre of the red was evident where a bullet had entered the skull, a brilliantly bright line of blood dribbling out starkly against already-pale skin. The liquid slowly moved downwards, dripping off his slack face and onto the floor, each drop causing small ripples in Daryl's blood that surrounded Gareth where he had collapsed.

Rick shook his head to make sure the view in front of him wasn't a illusion of some kind, not quite believing it was real until another gun went off from somewhere behind him. He had to blink a few more times to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him, feeling the same disconnect with the world he had after Joe's gun had gone off in his ear, with each flicker of his eyelids bringing the body laying a few yards in front of him into clearer focus.

Gareth.

It was _definitely_ Gareth.

He finally managed to take a deep breath in.

Rick stared at the dead man's open eyes, the brown iris' staring blankly back, void of anything, as his mind frantically filtering the information to try and process what had happened, and why more gunshots were now reverberating through his ears. Rick was too dumbfounded to appreciate the feeling of satisfaction that spread through his chest at the sight of those dead eyes, but he made sure to capture a snapshot of the moment in his head. He was sure, if he ever made it out of this alive, he would want to savour it later.

Vibrations from the ground beneath him were matched with thuds as the men on either side of him began dropping to the floor, lifeless, before they could even thinking about seeking out where the attack was coming from. Rick could see more of their captors, the ones behind Bob and Sasha, were also down. The pair recovered from their initial shock that had frozen them into place momentarily and quickly ducked to the to the ground, hands covering their heads.

With another shot and another body falling heavily to the ground, Rick realised that whoever was behind them were aiming selectively, and intentionally sparing them.

_For now._

On spotting his son still on the ground out in the open, Rick called out to him and gratefully saw Carl instinctively run towards his father's yells. Rick's own legs had already started carrying him forward, his feet slipping on the rocky floor underfoot as he pushed off with all his strength, throwing his arms around the boy as soon as he reached him and pulling him as close to the ground as possible.

Glancing up through the tangle of limbs they had created, Rick could see that Michonne had reacted the quickest out of everyone, and moved to protect Daryl's prone form. Having covered ground quickly using all the strength in her sinewy legs she had managed to fling herself forward and drape herself over the hunter, much like Rick was doing to Carl, shielding him from the bullets that continued to ring out.

The unseen guns didn't let up and with every few shots another of the now-fleeing henchmen fell around them. In the confusion, Abraham, Glenn and Maggie had moved with purpose to pick up the automatic weapons that the dead men had dropped. Turning away from the scene of their captivity, they had begun to shoot at the fences whilst running for the cover of the train car, aiming to take out any of the remaining threats to the group and get closer to the exit of the Terminus compound. Rick could make out Glenn's shouts above the gunshots and was sure the younger man was encouraging the rest of them, maybe ever pleading for them, to follow.

Carl was the first to react to their friend's instructions and without the slightest hesitation moved to stand. With only the thoughts of a father wanting desperately to protect his son, Rick grabbed a hold of Carl's shirt and tried to pull him back down to the floor only to find his son violently wriggling from his grasp.

"Stay low." Rick hissed into the air, his screams of anguish earlier still leaving traces in the rasp of his voice. "You need to keep down."

"No!" Carl's response betrayed all the anger the last few days had stirred as he emphatically drew his arm away from his father, the movement sending ice into Rick's heart. "We can't stay here, this is our chance to get away. We have to go. NOW!"

Fixing his eyes onto his son's, Rick nodded after a beat, seeing a steely resolution in Carl's features and accepting that he didn't have any reasoning to argue with his son. His eyes were drawn to movement over his shoulder and he followed it to see Bob and Sasha make their way from the floor and over to Michonne, quickly attempting, but struggling, to help move to Daryl to some cover and, if they were lucky, safety. Seeing them unable to get the man off the ground, any feelings of hesitation to act disappeared and Rick's feet began to carry him forward, his arm reaching out to Carl's to pull him along as well.

Rick's movement stalled slightly as he passed Gareth's body, bending low as he scooped his handgun up off the floor, the item feeling heavy in his open palm as if its proposed use to end Daryl's life had embedded an extra weight that it was destined to carry from now on. He paused as he stood and, despite the urgency he knew he should feel, he allowed himself a brief moment to deliver two heavy kicks to the head of the cooling corpse, feeling a warped satisfaction at the crack he felt below his boot. Rick couldn't deny the bubbling of hatred that simmered at the surface of his skin, something foreign inside of him, something he had fought against so strongly, suddenly welcoming the feeling of disappointment he felt that he hadn't been given the chance to inflict long and agonising pain on the dead man at his feet. Rick sneered down at the body, trying to contain his sudden need to let out the pent up rage that coursed through him. Gareth hadn't deserved the luxury of such a quick death, and, oh, how Rick wished he had been able to cause that man some serious harm while he was still alive. Rick wasn't quite sure if it was those kind of thoughts through his head that scared him the most, or that now, as the ghost of the man he used to be, he no longer questioned whether they were wrong.

A suddenly desperate call from Carl had Rick moving again, with one last glance dripping of hatred at Gareth.

Trying not to think about the fact he was having to step into the considerable pool of Daryl's blood to reach his son's side, Rick immediately realised why Carl had a distinct tinge of panic in his voice. The soles of the teenager's shoes were coated red and having tried to grab onto Daryl's savaged arm closest to him, Carl had found it too slick with blood to get any kind of grip. Rick could see his son's already-coated fingers slip across skin as if it were ice so he reached to help the others, settling for grabbing around Daryl' torso, Carl moving to do the same; at least the blood that covered his ruined back was slightly tacky as it had begun to dry. Sasha and Bob had grabbed a leg each and Michonne was on Daryl's other side, struggling too the find a grip on the slippery arm and settling for grabbing onto his undamaged shoulder. None of them dared to mention how cool the hunter's skin felt, despite the heat of the day, or how the clamminess they could feel was not down to sweat.

With a sudden gasp of pain at the hands on his flesh, Daryl's arms somehow had strength left to flail, albeit weakly. One hand caught Rick on the side of the head with very little force, as they tried desperately to lash out at those around him. The primal instincts of a brain starved of oxygen kicked in, telling the hunter to protect himself from a perceived threat, the people that Daryl couldn't understand through his confusion were trying to get him away from danger.

Rick gently grabbed Daryl by the wrist, grimacing inwardly as he felt a rapid but weak pulse under skin that moved apart beneath his feather-light grip. The action did the job to halt the erratic movement through the air, Rick ignored the blood that immediately covered his hands, and began to mutter quiet words of calm in the hunter's ear. It took a stretched moment, one in which they all held their breaths, but Daryl eventually relaxed the instant Rick's voice broke through into his panicked mind, easily able to pick out his closest friend's voice above the chaos of shouting and gunshots around them. His head instinctively turning towards the rumbling sound of the familiar tones, seeking Rick out and head moving in a bobbing motion that could maybe be construed as a nod. Grabbing the opportunity to get moving while the man between them wasn't trying to fight them off, Rick looked up to the others and, not needing to be told twice, they all simultaneously lifted Daryl and made their way to the train cars.

Rick did his best not to think about the fact the man made no sounds or gave no indication he was being manhandled by a number of people, something that would usually be associated with much complaining and the air turning blue from a litany of curses. He tried desperately not take in the ashen colour of Daryl's face, or how his eyes were open, pupils fully dilated to leave only the finest rings of blue, but unfocused and foggy, rolling wildly in their sockets as the man barely clung onto consciousness.

"Daryl, you stay with us now, y'hear?"

Rick's steps quickened in reaction to the lack of response he received, desperate to get to somewhere where they could help their friend. The five people around the injured man worked as one as they all-but sprinted, as well they could with the near-dead weight of a fully grown man between them, covering the distance to the train cars sat idly on the track quickly.

As they rounded the corner they almost collided with a figure moving from where they had just come from with equal speed, Rick close to dropping his hold on Daryl's torso to reach for his Python, ready to draw his weapon on the threat. The yelp of surprise from the man had Rick and the others audibly sighing, Glenn's hands flying up in a sign of peace.

"Rick! Thank God."

Glenn's words were rushed, intermittent with deep breaths of exertion. His eyes flitted to each member of the group, completing a mental roll call, but avoiding landing on Daryl. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

"I don't know." Rick continued moving forward, not wanting to halt any momentum they had gained, worried that if they stop they would struggle to get going again with the weight between them. "Whoever, whatever, it was, they weren't shooting at us. We need to move quick, in case they change that."

"We've already found a way out," Glenn's chest puffed imperceptibly, pleased to have some good news to share on what had been a pretty shitty day, "that's what I was coming back to tell you guys. We're pretty sure we just cleared the fence, Tara and Maggie are waiting there for us. Abraham and the others went out to check the layout up ahead."

Rick nodded, grateful that he wasn't expected to have to think of the logistics of their escape, he wasn't sure he could manage it right now. Instead, Glenn ran back towards the fence where Rick could now see the outlines of two women. As they approached, Maggie bent and peeled back a portion of the chain link, allowing a gap big enough for two people to squeeze through, not managing the hide the look of sadness flittering across her face as she glanced at Daryl.

Silently, Glenn and Tara ducked through and then reached back, arms ready to help manoeuvre the hunter through. Bob and Sasha relinquished their hold on his feet to the waiting duo, and carefully he was threaded through the opening, Carl moving aside to allow room but Rick and Michonne never letting go of their hold. As soon as they were all through, Maggie followed their path and came to stand directly beside them at the edge of the woods.

"Hey, over here." Abraham's voice carried clearly from treeline, guiding the group which way to travel. "It's all clear."

Everyone with spare hands immediately grabbed onto any piece of Daryl they could manage to get a grip, helping to distribute the weight that was beginning to increase in difficulty the longer it was held. The group moved silently forward together in the direction the voice had come from, none of them even glancing behind them at the now-still Terminus.

The silhouette of the cluster of people disappeared into the forest, leaving behind the eerily quiet courtyard, dust settling on new-dead bodies, specks mingling with drying blood on the dusty floor.

* * *

_So, come on, you don't hate me anymore, right? _

_Well, not yet, anyway. _


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer - nothing is mine, but the lacklustre prose! _

_Author Note: Thank you for the last lot of reviews. I am hugely sorry it's taken three weeks to update - although, have the second longest chapter to make up for it! _

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**Chapter Twelve**

Strong arm muscles coated in a sheen of sweat flexed under dirt-streaked skin as Abraham stretched out the knot in his shoulders, glancing back to the tree line behind him with a snarl of irritation, his lips curling meanly and his hard eyes knotting together in a deep frown. He had never been able to consider himself a patient man, even before the world had decided to go to hell around him, and he grunted in dissatisfaction at the length of time it was taking the others to catch up with him. He continued to walk out further into a small opening, the leaf-littered ground covered on one side with fallen tree trunks, the rotting wood creating a miss-matched wall of protection around the perimeter, stopping only when his foot kicked a discarded firearm on the ground.

Abraham looked up from the glinting metal at his toes and settled his eyes onto his two long-term companions, a sigh of exasperation leaving his cracking lips at Eugene panting wildly from the exertion of barely a minute of running and Rosita standing with her arms folded, her usual look of boredom planted on her face. Ignoring the rising irritation that one of them had so quickly disarmed themselves, he debated internally for a moment whether or not to order them to keep going, to forget the group he could begin to hear behind him as they struggled with their injured friend and move on before they would be able to follow.

Before he could quiet the warring sides of his mind long enough to make a decision, the sound of leaves rustling and twigs snapping under hurrying feet began to filter through the hanging branches behind him. The noise built quickly as the footfalls neared until finally it reached a crescendo; the figures bursting through the foliage, stumbling forward, all bent low, desperately trying to keep their heavy cargo from dragging along the floor. His eyes stayed fixed on them for a moment as, his mind still considering its options, Abraham curiously watched them continue to struggle, each one so obviously exhausted but none of them willing to give up on a man Abraham himself probably would have written off as a lost cause long ago. He had to give it to them, these people sure had some balls, and they sure as hell took care of their own, even if he sorely expected it would all be for nothing from the state of the man held between them. Abraham continued observing as the group went to gently lower their casualty to the ground, not missing how careful they all were not to jostle him too much. Finally, his wavering mind was made up as Glenn turned his face to look up at him, a stricken look of panicked fear etched in his skin, making his young face seem impossibly old.

That _damn _kid. He'd already managed to get Abraham into more trouble than he ought to have been allowed, and now he was doing it again.

These people may not have be his people, and Abraham may not care much for the dying redneck in their grip, but he quickly realised that his stalwart sense of duty from the old world had not left him just yet. Flicking his eyes over the group that could have easily thrown him and his friends to the wolves as sacrifices to save one of their own, he knew he wouldn't be leaving them there.

Hell, they could use all the help in getting Eugene to Washington anyway.

"Hold on." Abraham reached out to Eugene's shoulder as he spoke, wordlessly removing the jacket from the man's back. He caught the grateful ripple on Glenn's features as he walked the few steps to where the group acting like human stretcher had stopped, and gently laid the material beneath the ruined expanse of back hovering above the filthy ground. "Best not lay him on the dirt, not with those open wounds."

Glenn's greasy hair flopped into his face when he offered a series of hasty nods and a mumbled thank you as they lowered Daryl the last of the distance to the floor. Once their hands were cleared of the dead-weight being held in them, most immediately stood up straight again, quickly stretching their aching backs. Abraham couldn't help but notice the bearded man, the one whose name he couldn't remember but had obviously been rightfully pin-pointed as the leader by their captors, made no move to stand and stretch, but kept his hand wrapped loosely around a bloody wrist. The light touch was almost certainly not an attempt to staunch the flow of blood, but as a comforting touch the now-unconscious man had no need for it. Abraham wondered whether the comfort was for the injured man at all, or whether the bearded leader was the one in need.

The air was suddenly full of jumbled words and mixed shouts as frantic voices started talking at once, panicked questions of what to do next, what the hell had just happened and, the loudest question of all, how they could possibly help keep the man on the floor alive. Abraham grimaced at the sudden noise assaulting him and was thankful when one of the men, the one who had introduced himself as Bob when they had first met outside the tunnel, stepped forward and shushed them all before handing out orders. Abraham was impressed to see everyone jumping into action, following them man's instructions without hesitation, knowing in that instant that he had to be a serviceman like himself. Most likely a medic at that.

"Tara, I need your jacket. Sasha, your jumper too. In fact, everyone, we need all the material we can get. Lay one over him, anything to keep him warm and give the rest to Rick and Glenn." Various items of clothing were tossed onto the ground as Glenn hurried forward to settle opposite Rick, the two men selecting Sasha's relinquished jumper to lay across Daryl's bare torso. Glenn quickly scrambled the remaining items into his hands and awaited the next instructions eagerly.

"Use them to wrap his arms, as tightly as you can, we need to get bandages on these cuts to stop the bleeding. Maggie, you have a vest underneath?" Taking no notice to the men engrossed in their task and barely noticing the quick nod of affirmation from the brunette, Bob continued in rushed sentences, the words tumbling over the waiting crowd as he continued check over his patient for the most urgent wounds. "Good, use your shirt, please, put pressure here on this shoulder, slow this bleeding too. Michonne, you grab his legs, keep them elevated as close to 45 degrees as possible. Rick, Glenn, you need to get his arms up in the air too. Above his head. Higher. That's it. It forces the blood to travel towards the ground, to his torso. It helps keep as much blood towards the vital organs as possible. To keep them functioning for as long as possible. It's the only way we keep him going."

Bob didn't take any heed of the worried glances between the crowd, instead he moved quickly to check Rick and Glenn's handiwork of tying makeshift bandage around Daryl's flayed wrists. He tutted audibly and leant over each man in turn as if they were not there to reach up and adjust the dressings. His movements seemed frantic but purposeful, fingers moving expertly along soiled fabric, biting onto his lower lip in concentration.

"Both of you, I need your hands around the arms. Press as hard as you can. As much pressure as possible, okay?" Grateful when the listening men nodded, Bob smiled encouragingly, hoping it would lessen the look of terror mirrored in each of their eyes as they complied with the request.

Bob sat back on his haunches for a second, looking at the patient below him but not allowing himself a moment to look at his face, trying to keep himself objective. He could do trauma medicine, it was his training after all, but the moment he thought of the dying man as the same one who had brought him in from the wilderness into the safety of the prison, he was scared it would go out of the window. The medic went to move forward and help Michonne who, positioned beside him, shifted the weight in her hands to help keep Daryl's legs in the air. He was cut off by the strong hands on his shoulders.

"Here, I got that, Doc." Abraham moved over to Michonne, silently, and took the hunter's feet from her hands. He lowered himself slowly to the ground and knelt, letting each foot rest on one of his broad, strong shoulders. Bob hesitated for a moment, unsure of why the usually curt man was picking now to help, but felt himself relax when his eyes flittered down to the dog tags swinging loosely around the auburn-haired man's neck. A military man, someone with a cool head, was someone Bob could do with right now.

"Christ," Bobs exclamation came as his attention was grabbed by the blood already staining the dressings under Rick's fingertips, his frown only deepening when he glanced to see the same under Glenn's. Too busy to mask his reaction, or to even notice the looks of panic that sweep over the other's faces, he continued, "it isn't stopping as much as I would like."

He moved to Rick's side, gently guiding the man's hand to lower and bring Daryl's down with it, enough so that he could peek underneath the layers of binding, only shaking his head in reaction. Raising Daryl's hand back to the sky, and without speaking, Bob grabbed onto Rick's free hand, bringing it so his fingers came to rest on the inside of the hunter's upper arm, in the small dip between the meeting point of the bicep and the tricep.

"Rick, I need you need to press here, as hard as you can. Make sure you can feel a pulse. Glenn, do the same on the other side."

"How would pressing here even doing anything?" Glenn fumbled over his own fingers, looking at the placement's on Rick's own calloused ones and trying to find the pulse as Bob had instructed.

"It's the pressure point on the brachial artery, a way of slowing the blood flow to Daryl's wounds without having to use a _tourniquet. I want to avoid having to do that and then, if he makes it through, him_ ending up having to lose both his arms." Rick's instant look of shock up at Bob had him speaking again hastily. "That is what I want to avoid. I promise."

The group lapsed into silence for a moment, only a tiny drip of time, long enough for the group to finally allow a calm settle over them now they were not all in imminent danger. The only sounds were the whispering winds caressing the leaves not yet claimed for the ground in the trees around them, their racing hearts no longer thumping loud in their chests or their breaths coming out in rasping gasps. Rick remained kneeling on his side of the hunter, one hand clamped tightly on the cloth covering Daryl's right arm, his fingers of the other hand in the same place Bob had left them. Glenn was doing exactly the same on the other side. Both men held the hunter's blood-soaked limbs high into the air so they were level with their own heads in an attempt to stop the bleeding, their own shaking slightly with the effort of keeping them airborne. Maggie imperceptibly leant into Glenn's side, both hands strongly clasped over Daryl's damaged shoulder, her eyes tired and glassy, staring off past where she could see. The others stood gathered around, on standby in case they were suddenly called into action, except Carl who was prowling the perimeter of the group, blatantly throwing looked littered with distaste as sharp as the knife that had been pressed against his throat in his father's direction; Not that Rick would have noticed, his attention not yet being drawn from staring intently at Daryl's face. The weapon Carl had taken on escape was drawn and constantly pointed at the tree line, always ready to protect the group that seemed to have forgotten that threat of the undead all around them wouldn't take sympathy on their plight.

"He's lost so much blood." It was Maggie that spoke into the silence, the faraway sound of her voice to match the look on her face, asking a question no one really wanted to know the answer to. "How much more can he lose?"

"Not much." Bob wore a sincere grimace to portray how unhappy his was to relay this bit of information, his hands coming to his face and rubbing fiercely in a mixture of fatigue and frustration, before carefully inspecting between Glenn's fingers again. "It's slowing, but not enough. We just need to get the bleeding stopped, that's the most important thing. If we don't do that, we lose him. It's as simple as that. Tara, Michonne, I need your hands here as well. Take an arm each, push along with Glenn and Rick. We just need more pressure."

Michonne and Tara both moved to their requested positions, settling in beside the two men who were grateful to find the extra help took the weight off of their quickly-tiring arms. Bob took a moment to check he was happy with their placement and the amount of pressure, giving a satisfied nod before looking up and seeing expectant faces staring back at him.

Letting out a sigh, standing up and setting his hands on either hip, Bob cocked his head, his mouth lopsided where he chewed on one side of his mouth, while he contemplated how to phrase his words without dashing the last remaining lights of hope from the dulling eyes around him.

"We're doing all we can," he started, taking his time over the words spoken, letting them come out deliberately and with meaning, "We just need to hope he doesn't go into severe shock, if he isn't already. If he does...well, there is nothing I can do to stop his blood pressure bottoming out. We have no blood, hell, we don't even have any saline to help him replace the fluids he has lost. I won't be able to save him if he does, I just don't have the supplies."

"He's already unconscious...you're trying to say that after everything, he's as good as dead?" _Glenn_ words shattered the tenuous calm that had settled in the clearing, sucking it into a void of increased panic and all-too-familiar grief.

"No!" Bob's bloody hands flew up into the air, placating the younger man whose nervous energy suddenly had him bobbing on the spot in his crouched spot. "I'm saying we need to hope that he _hasn't already_ gone into shock. His body has been through a lot. An awful lot. He could be unconscious because of the culmination of his injuries, his body trying to protecting itself by shutting down while it recovers. I just don't know. That's the problem. After everything..."

Bob's voice faltered for the first time since taking charge, his eyes wandering to Rick, hoping the man would step up and help him talk to _his_ people, but finding the man staring resolutely at his friend's face. It was as if Rick hadn't taken in a work of the conversation, and Bob let out a shaky breath before finishing.

"...I just don't know what chance he has."

Rick felt sick. Physically, gut-wrenchingly sick. Flashes of dread spread throughout his limbs, so tangible in his body he is sure it is only the lack of food which is keeping him from emptying his stomach on the floor beneath him. He can hear the events around him, knows he shouldn't leave Bob to deal with it all, but he can't make himself focus on much more than the paling man in front of him. He can feel the pressure under his hands where he is pressing down firmly on Daryl's arms, is aware enough that he knows Carl is pacing behind him, and can see the sideways glances of concern he is getting from Michonne, but he's not totally sure he can bring himself to do anything but cling onto his friend's arm, as if keeping his grip tight would somehow stop the life from leaving his ailing body. Looking between his hands, white knuckled and strained, on either side of Tara's just-as-tense one, and Daryl's filth-covered face, he can feel the walls of him mind closing in on him, shutting down to save itself from dealing with the ongoing traumas of the day. It was only a sudden injection of a hope-filled plan that brought Rick closer to the surface of the present, tearing his gaze from Daryl on onto the dark iris's, still full of some impossible light, of Glenn.

"We can go on a run! There must be somewhere. They must have some medical supplies in Terminus, I can go back in."

"No, Glenn." Maggie's quick response stilled Glenn's expression a moment before it reached something resembling positive.

"She's right." Rick's voice felt foreign in his own mouth. He wondered if it sounded as wrong the rest of them, if they could hear the echo he could. "We can't be going back in there for something we don't even know exists. It's dangerous sending people back in there when we don't know who was responsible for that back there. Just because they left us to go, doesn't mean they aren't a threat, or that they don't see us as a threat."

"So you're going to let him die then?" Rick bristled at the sudden voice behind him, the hardness in his son's questions making him close his eyes against another wave of dread that made the hairs of his arms stand. "Again?"

"He's right." Abraham interjected, not wishing to let these people play the blame game right now, leaving the boy breathing heavily and the father frozen, "the last thing we need it to lose someone else"

"Stop it." Glenn words were matched with a strong shake of his head, his eyes pleading towards Abraham. "You're talking like he's already dead. You don't know him,..."

The silence that followed was full of a palpable anger, Glenn's chest rising slowly as his took a calming breath. His hanging words settled heavily on everyone's heads, threatening to stretch to eternity, weighing down their hearts until Tara's worried words cut through it.

"Guys..."

More leaves rustling from the direction they came from, and everyone's whose hands were free reached down for weapons, drawing them to the parting of trees they had emerged from moments ago, two looming shadows barely visible. The weapons remained levelled there as the shadows grew, the snapping of branches sweeping forward towards them, until finally the dark shapes reached the light.

Rick's mind tunnelled as he saw the approaching figures clearly for the first time, his mind grappling, not for the first time in the day, to comprehend what was happening. The larger of the two suddenly burst forward, the recognisable shapes of a katana and a crossbow slung across his back, advancing quickly on the group.

"Sasha!"

"Oh my God! Ty!"

Rick didn't really pay attention as Tyreese walked quickly to the already-running Sasha, enveloping her in a smothering hug, his hand holding onto the back of her head and burying her face into his strong shoulders. Rick didn't really notice as the man gripped on tightly to his sister, tears freeing themselves from his eyes, wetting her hair, as he was simply unable to contain his joy at seeing her alive.

What Rick did notice, however, was the grey-haired woman that was a few metres behind, sauntering cautiously towards them, a backpack fixed to her shoulders and a rifle in her hands. A rifle, Rick noted quickly, that would have been perfect for taking shots at people the rooftops of Terminus, and was identical to the one Tyresse had dropped from his own grip to embrace his sister. The woman's eyes scanned the others as a half-smile played along her lips, them meeting Rick's briefly before darting away and finally, with a look of sadness, falling onto Daryl's wrecked body, slack and pale on the ground at his knees.

He hadn't noticed as Carol had come closer that she had moved to scoot the rucksack to her side, and that has soon as the majority of the khaki material had come into view the rest of the group had reacted with overjoyed smiles and moved forward in a strong pulse. Rick was jolted back into reality as Carl stopped pacing momentarily, then sprinted forward, his voice filled with a hope Rick hadn't heard in a long time that cut through the tension and immediately dissolved it with one word.

"Judith!"

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_Before anyone gets too excited (or disappointed - looking at you there, Peachuzoid!), I want to clarify that this is NOT, nor will it turn into a romance fic - that includes Rickyl for the reviewer who asked that. Nothing against romance, or any "ship" in particular, it is just not where I am going with this fic, and not something I am good at writing at all!_

_Until next time! _


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